Angelystor
by Pike2
Summary: Ianto centric. There’s something awry in the Welsh village of Addoedsbren, a bubble in the rift, a supernatural occurrence or alien interference, the team investigates.
1. Chapter 1

This is a stand along fic set season two. I had/have writer's block, I need to get back in my comfort zone. I guess, scarily enough this is it? Hope you enjoy

My thanks to the lovely SZM for the beta

ANGELYSTOR

Stille Nacht, Heilige Nacht

It was cold and still.

Frost decorated the graveyard, glistening under the watchful eye of the winter moon. A heavy mist eddied around the headstones, pooling at the feet of angels bowed in prayer. Its shroud, like a colourless sea, lapped at the heavy oak door of the church, searching its broad girth for a breach. Inside, voices sang to the resonance of an organ, while the leaded windows illuminated the stark stonework.

It was cold and still.

The moon blinked in the studded sky as her pale gaze fell on the five silhouettes filling the space between the headstones. Like the winged sentinels they stood, not watching over the dead but observing the living. Moments passed as they listened to the lilt of the carol trickling from the austere building, spellbound by its pull on long forgotten heart strings. A Christmas remembered. A Christmas lost.

It was cold and still.

A flame tore into the darkness as one of the figures lit a crumpled Woodbine, cupping his hands out of habit. The lick of light offered a glimpse of the polished buttons on his collar and the lack of flesh on his hands. He inhaled the bite of nicotine to the limit of his lungs, relishing the taste while the others looked on. He took the cigarette from between his teeth and passed it to the next man who received it readily without a word. They moved forward as a unit, weaving between the static stone flowers, their measured gait squashing the gravel when they reached the path.

The silence was broken, the frozen night waited.

They stopped before the porch, the church windows casting a muted glow over the group, revealing nothing more than their dark serge uniform. One of the band stepped into the shadow of the arch and adjusted his peaked cap before freeing the latch of the heavy door. The mist sighed and followed in the footsteps of the figures as they entered, one of them surrendering the smouldering cigarette to dwindle in the darkness.

The cast-iron handle announced their arrival, shattering the rise of choral harmony. The choir took a collective breath and looked toward the intruders as if they were expecting the angels bringing news of great mirth. Instead, death stole into the nave and crept on the path of the forgotten and the lost.

The choir master, a genial man in his late sixties, rolled his eyes with a sigh and turned to admonish those who had interrupted the rehearsal. His worn leather footsteps echoed on the flagstones, matching those of the advancing group.

The scent of the candles and spruce, that decorated the church, was lost as a foul air swept along the nave making him shudder and stop. One of the men stepped forward to join him, his poise military and challenging. Behind him the singers' low whispers carried no comfort.

Aeddan gave a nervous smile and rubbed his greying beard out of habit. "Look here lads…" He never got to finish as the air rushed from his lungs.

He looked down on the calloused hand that tightly gripped the handle of the bayonet. The panicked cries of the choir seemed distant as he watched the leisurely drip of his own blood splash on the consecrated ground. Time lingered as death's shadow circled around him and for a moment nothing registered; the pain, the certainly of his demise, the concerned shouts of his brethren. He dropped to his knees, using one hand to grasp the arm of his attacker, to support himself; the other went instinctively to the hilt of the weapon. He looked up into the face of his assailant hoping to find some clarity, some reason but all he found was empty eyes and a face ravaged by death.


	2. Alles Echläft Einsam Wacht

ANGELYSTOR

Alles Schläft; Einsam Wacht

Owen kneaded his jacket and readjusted its position against the window. He pushed his head into the material and scowled slightly as he tried to get comfortable. "Where the hell are we going again?" He asked without opening his eyes.

The SUV's tyres crunched along the surface of the treated road as Jack steered them through the insipid landscape bleached by fog.

Gwen sighed as the doctor shifted his weight against her, suppressing the urge to shove him back toward the car door. "Addoedsbren, at least try and say it Owen, you might surprise yourself."

"It's six o'clock in the fucking morning, Gwen, I really doubt I can generate enough phlegm to pronounce your bloody place names." He yawned into his hand, sniffing is breath as he did. He grimaced.

The ex-officer thrust her elbow into his side. "Ow!"

Ianto looked over from the front seat of the SUV. "Dodgy Kebab again was it?"

Owen gave a sarcastic laugh and cracked open an eye. "At least I have a social life, tea-boy," he stated. "You wanna try it some time. Oh, I forgot, to have a _social life_ you first have to be_ social_ and um, have a life. Guess that counts you out." He nestled back into his make-shift pillow. "Anyway how come King Ianto gets to sit in the front?"

Tosh looked up from her laptop. "King Ianto?"

Owen smiled. "Oh, did I drop a syllable."

The young Welshman's eyebrow reacted to the insult. "I won the toss," he announced over his shoulder.

"Oh, I bet you did," the doctor exclaimed.

"I won too," Jack added from the driver's seat.

Owen sat up. "But you always sit in the bloody front Harkness."

"It wasn't to see who sat in the front." Jack said with a grin.

Tosh looked at Owen. "We lost," she revealed, pointing to both herself and Gwen.

"Oh, ha, bloody, ha." The doctor flung his head back into his jacket, shifting his weight slightly to one bum cheek; it was Gwen who reacted first.

"Oh, Owen!" She exclaimed wafting her hand in front of her face.

The doctor gave a satisfied smirk. "Sorry love, dodgy Kebab!"

Tosh opened her window. "And you wonder why we flicked a coin," she gasped, stealing a sideways glance at the young doctor.

"Better out than in," Owen replied ironically.

"For who?" Gwen huffed, crossing her arms.

Owen winked in her direction then settled back into his makeshift pillow. "So, is anyone going to fill me in?" He asked.

Tosh closed the car window. "A choir master was stabbed in the local church." She turned her laptop towards the dozing man.

Owen waved it away. "By aliens," he stressed lazily.

"No, by a bayonet," Ianto answered dryly.

Jack sighed. "By men dressed in World War One uniform," he expanded.

"And this is our business because?" Owen asked incredulously.

"There's a small fissure in the rift that runs along the village. Last night there was, well what I can only describe as a bubble…" Tosh piped up, turning the now flashing screen towards him again.

Owen shielded his eyes. "For God's sake Tosh…"

She gave a small shrug. "Sorry, I just thought you'd like to see the data."

"Do I look like I care?" He re-addressed the rest of the team. "So, let me get this straight, some guys with a military fetish, off some old geezer in a church and we're called out, to the back of beyond at the crack of dawn because Tosh is all moist about some fart in the rift."

Jack looked into the rear view mirror. "Yep, that about covers it."

Owen let out an exasperated sigh and closed his eyes. "Sweet," he murmured sardonically.

Jack turned up the volume on the radio, Mistletoe and Wine bounded around the confines of vehicle's interior.

"Jesus Christ!" Owen exclaimed, trying to block out the sound.

Ianto smiled. "No, Cliff Richard," he offered.


	3. Nur Das Traute Hochheilige Paar

ANGELYSTOR

Nur Das Traute Hochheilige Paar.

Ianto followed Tosh as she weaved through the forest of glazed headstones. The fog still clung to the daylight, making it difficult for him to see the uneven ground. He rubbed his eyes as he tried to focus in the melt of the churchyard but the smothering weather was making everything shapeless and indeterminable. Tosh seemed oblivious, dissolving quickly into its mantle as she followed the high-pitched whine of the device she was using to track rift activity. Ianto stumbled in his haste to keep up, leaving the span of his glove on the frosted grass. He wiped it on his coat, calling into the gloom for Tosh to wait; his voice bouncing back against the stillness of the day.

He tried his headset but it offered nothing but a static hiss. Ianto felt uneasy. He felt awkward and out of place, like a dark stain on a pale shroud.

A figure approached, staggering through the fog until he was level with the young Welshman. The man was naked; the entire top layer of his skin was burnt from his body. His eyes were closed, the lids swollen, his face scalded and blistered. He placed a tattered hand on Ianto's shoulder and parted his parched lips. "Yperite," he rasped, unable to draw breath.

He took a step backward. "Yperite," his voice cracked again before he moved off and was swallowed up by the haze.

Ianto remained fixed as around him the fog retreated on an unseen breath of wind to the fringes of his vision, revealing a muddy, lunar landscape. Trees, like battle weary sentinels, stripped of their branches, stood destitute against the dull sky still churning with the remains of heavy artillery and the smell of cordite.

Someone began to whistle, its eerie sound muffled by the bank of fog. Out of the gloom a figure approached, the cheerful tune on his lips sounding menacing. Ianto felt the barrage of his heart beat against his chest, yet his breath caught in his throat.

The Officer stopped a little way from the Welshman and four others figures stepped out of the circling haze to join him.

A flame burnt into the overcast setting, adding a glare of colour but no warmth. One of the men dipped his head to light the Woodbine between the grimace of his mouth. He inhaled deeply and discarded the match from his skeletal hands with a crack of bony fingers. Ianto swallowed.

The man with the cigarette stepped forward revealing the ugly gaping wound that ripped apart his face. "_While you've a Lucifer to light your __**fag**_," he emphasized, raising his eyebrows knowingly at the Welshman and brandished the cigarette in the air.

He placed the Woodbine into the hole in his cheek and drew the rich tobacco to his lungs. "_Smile, boys, that the style_," he continued with a mirthless laugh visible because of the smoke.

The Officer in the group took off his cap and began to polish its badge with his sleeve. Ianto could see an opening where a bullet had pierced the side of his head. The man placed it back on and looked at the young Welshman. "Go home," he ordered.

Ianto felt a tap on his shoulder and discovered one of the men behind him. He turned his head slowly round to be greeted by a face that was buckled and crushed. The man's forehead had caved in, pushing his eyes sockets further apart and down toward his cheeks. "_My arms have mutinied against me — brutes! My fingers fidget like ten idle brats, my back's been stiff for hours, damned hours. Death never gives his squad a 'stand-at-ease'_."

The man wiggled his fingers close to Ianto's cheek; maggots dripped off the flesh onto the young man. He felt them squirm between the material of his coat and his neck. He reeled away from the infested soldier, brushing desperately at the plump grubs and stumbling back into the mud.

He got to his feet, instinctively wiping the cloying sludge from the leather of his gloves. "Would you like to see my pet?" Another asked, indicating to a rat he held.

The creature sprang from the soldier's grasp and scurried up his mutilated arm, stopping to snack on his exposed flesh. "Now, now Fritz, I'll be needing that later," he said, tearing the ravenous animal from the open wound. "Here take this." He delved around in his pocket producing a hunk of dried bread; the animal took it greedily between its jaws, moving onto its master's shoulder to gorge itself.

The young soldier smiled and looked at Ianto. "That is unless we can find some fresh meat around here somewhere. He prefers it if the blood's still pumping, sir, you see. Likes toes, does our Fritz, likes to nibble on them in the night, can't resist the pull of fresh meat." He made soft clucking noises as he fed the creature more of the mould covered loaf.

The Officer stepped forward and laid a hand on the Welshman's shoulder. "Go home, Torchwood," he advised again. "Only death awaits you here."

He looked back into the fog and suddenly pushed Ianto to the ground. A shell exploded nearby shooting a tall column of debris into the air. The blast ruptured the silence, like a sudden violent storm, raining down its carnage upon them. Ianto ate mud, covering his head with his arms, while the Officer used his own body to shield him from the deluge. The air was turned to dust making it hard to breathe; unless of course you were already dead.

The Welshman felt a rough tug on his shoulder as the man hauled him to his feet. He stood awkwardly watching as the lingering pillar of smoke began to expand out from the top, stretching its reach like an angel unfurling its grimy wings. The men turned and walked towards its spectre until it engulfed them in its eddying shadow. Only the Officer remained, a haunted look on his face, his eyes filled with a sorrow. "Go home," he whispered desperately, turning into the hostile embrace of the dark mist.

When he had been swallowed by the inky vapour a threatening face appeared in its pall and met Ianto's stare.

The Welshman felt a chill ascend him as once the fog closed in.

It was cold and still.

-------------------------------

Tosh was mesmerised by the jump of digital numbers on the display. Where as a few moments ago it had lay dormant, with only the occasional encouraging blip, it now seemed intent on registering an escalating increase in activity, way beyond what she had encountered before. She shouted for Ianto not taking her eyes of the mounting figures.

"Ianto," she called again into the layers of fog. There was no response.

She pressed her Bluetooth. "Ianto." The answering hiss made her tear it away from her head and press the affronted ear.

She looked back at the device, the small green light was flashing madly in the gloom; she could even feel the heat from its casing penetrating through her gloved hand.

"Shit," she said with a swallow.

The ground shook making her unsteady on her feet. She fell backward, a headstone breaking her fall, making her drop the device. A thunderous burst of dirt and grit surged over her, causing her to instinctively shield her eyes.

Moment's later a figure stumbled towards her moving blindly in the loam of the fog. She rubbed at her sore eyes, reaching out a hand to grab at his coat and guide him to her. "Ianto," she said with urgency.

The dishevelled young man looked at her without recognition. "Tosh?" He stuttered, grabbing onto her small shoulders.

"Yes, who did you…" But she was interrupted as he vomited all over her patent Jimmy Choo's.


	4. Holder Knabe Im Lockigen Haar

**ANGELYSTOR**

Holder Knabe Im Lockigen Haar

Jack leant against the low ceiling beam that cut the small twin room in half. He watched in silence as Owen examined their youngest team member, who was perched on a rustic iron bed. The room had a lingering smell of wet plaster and fresh paint that masked the tang from the antiseptic that the doctor had applied to a small cut to Ianto's cheek.

Owen sighed, puffing out his cheek. "Okay, you can do your shirt back up," he instructed, clearing away his kit.

Ianto slipped off the bed, causing a ripple in the rough cotton bedspread. Jack's gaze was held briefly by the weak flush of sunlight radiating through the Welshman's opened shirt as he pulled it around him.

Owen shouldered past the Captain. "Anything?" Jack asked turning his attention to the doctor.

"Apart from a _baby_ scratch on his cheek, nope. Maybe we should leave him at the Hub next time. Fieldwork and tea-boys don't mix."

Jack turned his back on the room. "That's your diagnosis?"

"Yep, unless you want second opinion?" Owen said with resolve as he pushed his way into the corridor.

Jack shook his head. "Good," the doctor commented over his shoulder. He carried on to the girl's room. "Hey, how come you get the biggest room?"

The Captain turned back to Ianto who was sat back on the bed. The young man's focus was on the daub of mud spread across his overcoat. "What was it like, the war?" He asked softly into the silence.

Jack considered his answer. "First or second?" He retorted glibly.

Ianto's stare turned to him, cutting through the façade and plastic smile. "Like four years of Canary Wharf," he whispered finally.

The Welshman nodded.

-----------------------


	5. Schlaf In Himmlischer Ruh

ANGELYSTOR

Schlaf In Himmlischer Ruh!

Jack sunk in the soft mattress of the bed, resting his elbows on his knees. He looked over at Gwen. "What do we have?"

The young woman pushed a tendril of dark hair behind her ear and shifted her weight on the sprung bed. She thumbed through her note book, holding several pages between her pinch. "Aeddan Bach, sixty-seven years old, was born here but left to pursue a teaching career. Was a master at Marling Grammar School in Stroud for, for twenty years, retiring back to the village, with his wife, when his sister became ill."

She turned her attention to the opened door as Ianto entered carrying an ornate tray of cups. She gave him an affectionate smile of gratitude as he set one on her bedside table.

"His sister?" Jack drew her back.

Gwen directed her concentration from the comforting aroma and turned the page of her A4 pad. "Dylis Bach, sixty-two, used to run the Post Office, here, until she became too sick. Never married."

"Spinster of this parish," Owen offered, taking a prolonged swig of coffee to savour the rich flavour and to confirm his suspicion that somewhere along the line Ianto had sold his soul to the Devil. "This isn't instant," he gauged.

With a steady hand Ianto paused as he passed Jack his 'Blue Willow' cup. "And this isn't the back of beyond," he retorted. "This establishment does possess a coffee machine, a rather nice GAGGIA…"

Owen nudged Jack as he sat heavily on the edge of Tosh's bed, causing the Captain's beverage to rock precariously on its saucer. "Better watch yourself Harkness, looks like you've got a rival. Bet it's all metallic and shiny, our tea-boy has a weakness for anything mechanical and shiny."

"Owen!" Tosh rebuked hastily.

Ianto glared at the doctor who just smiled and dunked a Hobnob into his coffee.

Jack gave a heavy sigh as he tipped the spillage back into the cup from his saucer. "Do we know what's wrong with her, the sister?"

"Cancer, she has a Macmillan Nurse staying with her," Gwen answered.

Jack looked down into his coffee. "The witness' statements were slightly confused as to the number of attackers and descriptions but one thing they did agree on was they were all wearing World War One Uniforms." He looked back to the team.

"A few of the choir seemed to think they were disfigured in some way," Gwen added, stealing a hurried sip of her drink.

"Well that narrows it down," said Owen brightly, taking another biscuit from the opened packet and dropping crumbs on the bedspread.

"Have we established a connection between Mr Bach and World War One?" Ianto asked, leaning against the wardrobe.

Gwen puffed out her cheeks. "Mrs Bach said her husband's grandfather, William, served. Lost a leg when a bullet wound got infected, he was sent home."

"A Blighty," Jack said with a sad smile.

Gwen eyes narrowed. "A Blighty was a wound that would get you sent home," Jack explained. "Do we know which regiment?" Jack glanced between the two girls.

The ex-police constable shook her head. "She couldn't say."

"Tosh?" Jack asked hopefully.

"I've contacted the National Archives, the Imperial War Museum and many others but I'm not holding out much hope, a lot of war records were destroyed in the Blitz. Even some of the Torchwood archives were lost."

Jack attention fell on the Welshman. "Ianto, did you notice if the men you encountered had an insignia on their uniforms?"

The young man thought for a moment then shook his head. "I couldn't make it out," he said quietly.

Jack nodded.

Tosh bit her lip. "I found the word 'yperite', on several sites." She looked up at Ianto and gave a small smile. "It's another name given to mustard gas, used by German forces in 1917…"

"'Peace upon earth!' Was said. We sing it and pay a million priests to bring it. After two thousand years of mass we've got as far as poison-gas.'"

All eyes turned to Owen who held a soggy biscuit over his cup. He shrugged and placed it in his mouth. "We used to get lumbered with a great uncle every Christmas," he explained, spitting out a few sodden lumps. "The daft old sod used to recite that little nugget while they played the national anthem, after the Queen's speech; used to piss himself too and blame the dog." He grabbed another biscuit.

Ianto moved to where he had left the tray and retrieved a manila folder from under it. He coughed into his hand. "Addoedsbren has a file in the Torchwood archives."

He opened the file releasing its musty smell and pulled out a single sheet of aged paper. "Torchwood were sent to investigate the appearance of, 'the Angelystor' …"

"The angel of death," Gwen interjected nodding. "Mrs Bach mentioned it when I interviewed her."

"Last year fairies now this!" Owen rolled his eyes. "What next dragons?"

Ianto ignored him. "Apparently, according to folklore, it announces the names of those in the parish who will shortly die." He looked around the group.

"What did _we_ find?" The Captain asked.

"Torchwood drew a blank, sir. The only comment made was that the psychic who accompanied them became 'agitated' when in the proximity of an old yew tree. The file was subsequently closed."

"And yet you found it again," the doctor commented into his cup.

Jack pinned Owen with a stare. "What year was the phenomenon investigated?"

Ianto checked the date on the top of the report, fingering the sheet loosely between thumb and forefinger. "Nineteen-twenty-eight."

"I can confirm…" Tosh fiddled with the download cable attached to the hastily repaired rift device. She tapped a few keys and her screen flickered for a moment with a list of data. "Damn it!" She exclaimed as it faded from view.

She pulled a small watchemakers' screwdriver from behind her ear and used it to tweak the gadget's interior to restore the information.

"I can confirm," she began again with a slight cough. "That the readings I took earlier coincide with the report, rift activity peaked around the area of the yew tree." She looked to Jack.

He smiled. "Well I say that demands further investigation," he exclaimed, jumping to his feet and sending Owen sprawling across the bed.

"Fuck, Harkness," the doctor yelled, looking to the small spill of coffee down his front.


	6. Stille Nacht, Heilige Nacht 2

ANGELYSTOR

**Stille Nacht, Heilige Nacht - 2**

Ianto stepped out of the car and pushed the ends of his scarf further into the confines of his coat. The night air was bitterly cold with just the odd wisp of haze caught in the metal of the breeze.

"Spooky or what," Owen reflected, looking to the graveyard. "Why the hell can't we wait until morning?"

"You're not scared are you Owen?" Gwen asked as she flexed her hands into her gloves. "Don't you know it's the best time to go ghost hunting?" She wriggled her fingers in front of his face, ghost-like.

Owen pulled his head away from her and walked round to the boot of the SUV. "Who the fuck do you think you are, Gwen bloody Fielding?" He snapped, lugging his kit from the interior.

"Well, that must make you Owen Acoarh," Tosh shouted from the comfort of the backseat.

The doctor smiled. "Hey, I'm not the one who sees _dead people_," he countered, jerking his head in Ianto's direction.

"So that'll make me Bruce Willis," Jack added. "Hey, I could live with that."

"Oh no, you've got far more hair," Gwen said over her shoulder.

She handed Ianto a torch. "You okay?" She asked quietly, while the others busied themselves out of earshot.

The young man nodded; Gwen squeezed his hand as she let go of the torch.

Jack opened the back door and peered inside, resting his arm on the roof. "Comfy?"

Tosh smiled checking her screen. "I'll manage," she replied lightly, shifting against the seat. "You know Ianto could have stayed…"

"I want him out in the field on this one. Whatever's happening has already singled him out once…"

"So you're using him as bait," the Asian woman stated, throwing Jack a look.

"He's a big boy, Tosh," Jack parried with a roguish grin. "And anyway, Gwen and myself have point on this one. Ianto and Owen are just back-up."

Tosh went to say something but Jack cut her off. "Did you question Gwen and Owen's leadership abilities as well?" He asked.

She stuck out her chin. "All the time."

Jack's head twitched as he smiled. "Good," he replied. "Tosh, look, I know things changed while I was gone. You've all grown individually and as a team. All of you." He stressed. "I kinda feel like the proud father, you coped…"

"Some more that others." Tosh cut in, looking towards Ianto, Jack followed her gaze and gave a small awkward smile.

She drew breath. "We had to cope Jack, we had no idea if you were ever coming back."

He watched her fingers hover over the keyboard as she awaited his reaction. "Touché, Tosh," he remarked tapping his heart.

She rolled her eyes at the gesture. "We're not the only ones who've changed," she added, typing in a password.

"For the better, I hope?" Jack entreated; Tosh responded with a warm smile.

"Be ready if we need you, okay?" He shut the door and banged the SUV's roof three times.


	7. Hirten Erst Kundgemacht

ANGELYSTOR

Hirten Erst Kundgemacht

Jack shone his torch over the spread of the yew. The tree, over its many years, had broadened itself by putting down shoots to quadruple it chances of survival. Now, four extensive and knarred trunks pushed themselves outward from their shared parent roots. He let his fingertips drift across the toughness of its tight grained wood, feeling the press of the years embedded on its trunk. Like wrinkles on an old man, the tree too bore its banded life scars.

Without removing his hand he asked, "what do you see Gwen?"

The young woman scanned the area with her light. "The tombstones flanking the yew seem to lean towards it; they also appear to be much older than the ones we passed nearer the gate."

She walked to an angled headstone and crouching down began rubbing it with her freehand. "I can just make out the date." She paused, tracing the impressions with her fingertip. "I think it's sixteen eighty-one."

She stepped away and wiped her gloved hand on her jeans. For a moment her thoughts settled on the root system beneath her. Was it feeding off the bodies gifted to it by burial, absorbing their remains into its fibre? She shuddered, moving her feet away from the arc of a knotted root. She let the soft beam of the torch strike the twisted bark. Faces seemed to appear in its weave, whispering through the crown of leaves for her to go home.

"Gwen!" Jack's voice shook her mentality.

She dipped the light towards him. "I'm sorry, I thought I saw…" She shook her head.

"What?" He asked.

She shone the torch back on the yew. "Faces." She swallowed.

Jack followed the shaft of light, he saw nothing but the knit of the bark and yet… There was something more.

He moved round to the open space at the centre of the wooden columns. He touched his Bluetooth. "Tosh, what've you got for me."

"The rift device is registering zero activity." He heard her tap at the keys. "I have some information regarding the yew situated in the churchyard, um several botanical studies have concluded that it's over three-thousand years old, dating its origins to the prehistoric Bronze Age…"

"_At last we've found something older than Harkness!" _ Owen's voice cut through Tosh's narrative.

She sighed. "In ancient times the yew tree was considered sacred and came to symbolise everlasting life because of its capacity for longevity and regeneration. Many cultures believed that it was a natural gateway between our world and that of the Dead. Apparently Shaman used to inhale the tree's vapours to gain visions and receive messages from the Otherworld."

"_It's bloody poisonous,"_ Owen cut in again. _"The seeds and the leaves contain an alkaloid which suppress the heart's functions…"_

"'Slips of yew, silvered in the moon's eclipse"'. Jack quoted into the cold night. He winked at Gwen. "Okay then, no eating the berries."

"_Frankly, sir, I was hanging on for fish and chips," _ Ianto retorted.

Jack looked at Gwen. "It's gonna be a long night," he said with a roll of his eyes.

Gwen smiled and relaxed a little, watching as Jack stepped into the heart of the tree where its four broad arms fused. He looked around as if he was expecting something to happen. With a shrug he jumped to where Gwen was stood.

"What do we do now?" She asked rubbing her hands together despite her gloves.

"We wait," Jack answered nonchalantly.

"If anyone's interested…" Tosh began.

"_No!"_ Owen barked.

"Go on Tosh," Gwen countered as she began to pace against the cold.

"There are also two Eighth Century pillar stones which stand at the south side of the church; you might be able to make them out from where you are Owen." Her voice rose slightly.

"_It's fucking dark Tosh, we're in a graveyard, there are loads of bloody stones."_ His words ricochet off the interior of the porch.

"Well, just out of interest, they have two roughly incised crosses on them."

"_And I left my wax crayon and tracing paper at home!"_ The doctor exclaimed.

"Thanks Tosh".Jack's voice cut through Owen's bluster. "Let us know as soon as you pick anything up."

"Will do."

* * *

Owen exhaled loudly watching his breath against the night. "God its fucking cold," he stated, jiggling about in an effort to warm up. 

Ianto watched him from the stone seat running down the side of the porch, wondering, because of their location, if the statement was directed at him or the higher power. He looked to Owen's short leather jacket and gloveless hands. "Perhaps you should have dressed warmer," he offered reluctantly, settling back against the hard stone.

Owen glared at him. "Who do you think you are, my mother?"

Ianto considered a response but thought better of it, choosing instead to dwell on floor.

Owen continued to shuffle his feet, viewing the notices pinned to the glass covered notice board.

"Bet you were a choir boy," he said with a chuckle.

"Sorry?" Ianto looked up sharply.

"I can see you now, flouncing about in a floaty white dress…"

"It's called a surplice you ignorant prick," Ianto said abruptly.

Owen snorted. "Whatever, _choir-boy_."

He pulled up the collar of his coat. "This is madness, us freezing our bollocks off." He looked over to Ianto. "Well me at any rate." He blew into his cupped hands.

Ianto stood up. "Would you do it any differently?" He asked.

"Well, if I was in charge I wouldn't be babysitting you," Owen spat.

Ianto shouldered passed him, looking out on the graveyard. "Well you're not, _anymore_," he added.

The silence settled on them both except for Owen's constant movement to outwit the cold.

Ianto sighed, his focus remaining on the irregular rows of lopsided stones. "Do you ever think about it?" He raised on the curl of his breath.

"What?" Owen tried to suppress his impatience.

"Death."

Owen shrugged, moving closer to the Welshman. "Nope." The lie echoed around the arch of stone.

Ianto glanced in his direction. He knew at some point they had both longed for it, entertained it, and that he himself had fleetingly touched its long shadow. Death and Torchwood were synonymous.

Owen too was left pondering his own mortality as he looked upon the graveyard teeth. He snorted. "Oh, don't worry tea-boy, I know one day I'll end up filling one of those tasty silver boxes back at the hub but I enjoy the job too much to dwell on it." He hoped he sounded convincing.

"You revel in the adrenalin rush." Ianto turned back to the burial ground.

"Better than sex," Owen replied with a smug smile.

He moved in closer. "But you wouldn't know too much about that would you?"

Ianto ignored the doctor's taunt as Tosh's voice cut through their exchange. "Jack my readings just went off the…"

Hissssssssssssssssssssss

-------------------------------------------------------


	8. Durch der Engel Halleluja

ANGELYSTOR

Durch der Engel Halleluja

An invisible wave emanated from the tree knocking Jack and Gwen off their feet. As they started to stand they were hit again by a ferocious detonation that felled them for a second time. The resonating boom had Gwen covering her ears before she blacked out, hitting the cold ground with a thud. Jack just managed to roll onto his elbow as five figures stepped out of the ensuing belch of smoke, an eerie green light radiating around them.

The one of the men, an Officer, turned his head and glanced at Jack. In the deathly glow the Captain saw a sadness that he, himself, recognised. It was a yearning, a longing for peace. The Officer blinked and held his eyes shut for the briefest of moments before signalling to the others to follow.

In the SUV Tosh tried to make contact with the team but all she got for her effort was white noise. She closed her laptop, cutting off Michael Crawford's Music Of The Night. She checked her gun and wrapped her coat around her small frame ready to exit the vehicle. As she reached for the handle the door locked with a menacing snap; the others followed suit one by one. The lights went out and the SUV was immersed in the darkness.

Owen and Ianto ran towards the yew, deftly dodging the tombstones in their haste, their sprint making no noise on the silent earth. The moon flickered behind a veil of cloud but they could still make out the chartreuse glow of spectres against the pitch of the night.

It was cold and still as the two men stood before the ghostly group, their guns raised.

"Jack?" Ianto's attention remained on his aim and the row of dead soldiers.

"I can't move, something's keeping me pinned here," he cried, trying to pull his Webley from its holster. "Gwen's out cold."

Owen stepped forward, his gun threatening the peace. "Let them go," he barked, looking at the Officer.

The dead man gave a contemptuous smile as he turned away and began to move off, the others following in single file.

Ianto and Owen opened fire in short bursts, aiming low at first and then higher when their carefully placed rounds had no affect.

One of the men peeled off from his comrades and lunged at the doctor, wrestling the gun from his grasp. Owen fought back but his assailant's doughy hands gripped firmly on his throat. The soldier smiled, stretching his swollen lips across the yellowing flesh of his bloated face. Clotted slime dripped from his mouth, giving off a rank smell of decay and stagnant mud. Owen began to retch while trying not to fall backwards from the weight of the attack.

Ianto slammed the hilt of his handgun into the soft tissue of the soldier's bulging head but it had no effect except to discharge more of the viscous liquid and liberate a multitude of red slugs which squirmed haplessly as they fell to the ground. He attempted it again but the soldier quickly turned Owen round to block the strike.

"For fuck's sake Ianto," Owen gasped as the Welshman's weapon collided with his shoulder blade. "He doesn't need any help from you."

The doctor tried to loosen the other man's hold by peeling the inflated fingers from his throat. To his horror two of them fractured and came free in his grasp; the dead man's grip remained solid.

Tosh slipped through the gap between the front seats positioning herself on the driver's side. She tried the key in the ignition and got nothing but a feeble click. She looked up, two greedy eyes glistened from the bonnet of the SUV, watching her every movement. She swallowed, wrapping her hand around the hilt of her weapon as they moved closer until Tosh could make out the shape of a large rat. A gasp caught in her throat as it perched just millimetres away from her face, its snout twitching against the window as her own breath clogged up the glass.

From the back seat her laptop began to sing with eerie clarity. "'Night time sharpens, heightens each sensation. Darkness stirs and wakes imagination.  
Silently the senses abandon their defences…'" There was a loud tap at the side window, she jumped and turned her head.

Ianto struck the dead man with a fire axe from the church, slicing diagonally through his collarbone to the spine. Sludge seeped from the wound along the handle of the weapon causing Ianto to let go. The soldier too released his hold on Owen and turned his blank gaze to the Welshman, the axe still embedded in his back.

"I think that just pissed it off mate," the doctor rasped, leaning over. "What the hell…"

He just had time to jump clear as underneath him one of tree's great roots ripped free of the earth. It swayed in the air like a great cobra before it set upon the solider, coiling its extensive reach around his ankle. Water rapidly escaped from the root's vacant furrow turning the earth around them to a glutinous mud.

The soldier endeavoured to battle against the strength of the yew by grabbing at the air between himself and Ianto. There was fear on his face; the Welshman could see it, even in the white holes that were once eyes as his struggle took him further into the hungry earth.

Jack found he could move, as if whatever had held him down now had a new purpose. He quickly turned to assess an unconscious Gwen. As he cradled her head he looked over to the other two members of his team, a tide of muddy earth surrounded them, swallowing their feet and ankles in its glut.

"Stay still," he warned as he gently put Gwen's head back on the ground.

Owen looked to the fold of the earth around him and then back to the solider who was up to his knees in the quagmire. The root pulled on the dead man, drawing him deeper into yielding arms of the dirt. He tipped forwards, making a grab for something solid, seizing hold of Ianto's lapel and pulling the Welshman down with him.

As the tree continued to drag its victim into the mud, the soldier looked at Ianto, his fingertips clinging onto the cuff of the Welshman's coat. "Please," he begged.

Ianto pushed his free arm against the constricting sludge and gripped the dead man's wrist. The solider tried to extricate himself by using the young man as a means of support but this only pulled them both deeper into the mire. Ianto could smell it; he could taste it, the slow suffocation of death, the choke of the mud as it compressed and consumed you whole.

"Ianto let him go, he's already dead." Jack's voice broke through the slip of the earth.

The dead eyes looked at him and the swollen lips gave a silent prayer for salvation. Ianto swallowed and wrestled himself free of the man's hold.

The earth gave a grateful sigh as its victim slid into its turbid belly. Silently and slowly the solider disappeared, turning as he was sucked under; making the most of what little air was left to him. His hand was the last thing to disappear under the surface, still clinging to life, grabbing at nothing.

The mud receded back into the ground along with the parasitic root of the yew until all that was left was a fire axe in memorial.

Owen fell to his knees and threw up while Ianto picked himself off the frozen grass and walked towards the comfort of the austere church.

Jack waited until the doctor had finished dry heaving. "I need you to check on Gwen," he said softly.

Owen nodded and got to his feet, Jack motioned to the imprints on his neck. "I'll live," he declared, glancing in Ianto's direction.

Jack followed his gaze. "You see to Gwen."

The doctor nodded again and wiped his mouth on his sleeve. "Don't fuck up Harkness," he said over his shoulder, walking to where the ex-constable lay.

Jack tired his Bluetooth as he matched the Welshman's long strides. "Tosh?" It hissed a reply.

Ianto was facing the brickwork of the church, one hand resting on its irregular surface, his head bowed. As Jack approached he quickly inhaled his emotions. "Sir," he said without turning round. "I was just going to check on Tosh."

"Great minds," the Captain replied, placing a hand lightly on the young man's shoulder.

Ianto turned his head to the warmth of the touch and then let his gaze drift to the steel blue of Jack's. The Captain's faltering touch slid down the young man's arm to his hand.

"I'm sorry Ianto." It was the tenderest of apologies.

The Welshman's fingers softly curled around Jack's for a moment before they slackened and he drew his hand away. He swallowed and inhaled. "Shall we?" He said in a broken voice, gesturing to the iron gates.

Jack grinned. "Oh, yeah," he replied with meaning.

Ianto held his evocative stare and gave a small smile. "I meant Tosh, sir."

"So did I," Jack countered quickly, feigned innocence not hiding his grin.

--------------------------

Tosh met them by the gates panting heavily. "You… you okay?" She asked.

Jack put his hand on her shoulder to steady her breathing. "I couldn't… the electrics… I couldn't get out… the doors locked… are you sure you're okay?" The light from her torch scrutinizing Ianto's muddy appearance.

Jack nodded. "Owen's with Gwen," he replied, with a yank of his head.

"What…?" She gulped.

"The bleed of rift energy knocked her out." He answered.

"Oh…" Her face lit up catching her breath. "Of course the residue would have affected the car, short term of course." Tosh was drowned out by a rush of sirens.

She looked to the noise, her voice distant. "He said, 'they had business in the village.'"

Jack touched her shoulder turning to her towards him. "They spoke to you?" He asked.

"Yes." Tosh swallowed, remembering the shattered face at the window, dripping with hate.


	9. Tönt Es Laut Von Fern Und Nah

**ANGELYSTOR**

Tönt Es Laut Von Fern Und Nah:

The garden centre reminded Jack of a hanger, with its dome ceiling high above their heads; except there was no heavy smell of aviation fuel, just the crisp aroma of breakfast from the café. They had pushed several tables together and sat poking the various food stuffs on their plates.

"So," Jack began, lancing a couple of mushrooms with his fork. "Last night Dylis Bach was killed and we couldn't do a damn thing to stop it." He reached over and grabbed his coffee, his lips leaving an oily residue on its liquid.

"Well, it wasn't for lack of trying. I mean, how do we stop something that's already dead?" Owen sliced into one of his plump sausages with a certain amount of aptitude, pausing, a moment, to consider its similarity to the dead man's fingers; he shrugged it off and crammed the meat in his open mouth, chomping as if it was/were his last meal.

"Perhaps we should get kitted out with garlic and holy water next time," he offered.

"They're not vampires," Tosh answered, idly breaking open her cheese filled omelette.

"Oh, excuse me, how do you kill a Zombie then?" The doctor asked with derision.

Tosh stared at Owen with defiance. "A shot to the head, you know, 'kill the brain and you kill the ghoul?'" Apart from Gwen, who was nose deep in police reports, the others look at her in surprise.

"'Kill the brain and you kill the ghoul?'" Owen repeated.

Tosh nodded her mouth full; she quickly swallowed. "It's from Night of the Living Dead." She piled more egg mixture on her folk.

"So, based on scientific fact then," the doctor stated.

"Well it's a lot better than, 'garlic and holy water…'" Tosh mimicked in a pseudo Cockney accent.

"What about a fucking, big, rocket launcher…" Owen began.

"They're not Zombies though, are they?" Ianto cut in, remaining focused on his croissant.

The doctor looked at him in disbelief. "What? They're dead and they're walking around…"

"But Zombies eat the flesh of their victims, are uncoordinated, slow…" Tosh interjected, leaning forward and tapping the table to emphasis each bullet point.

"Right, 'cos if it's in the movies it has to be proven, like Hollywood doesn't take liberties…" Owen waggled a finger at her, while still chewing.

"THE CORONER'S PRELIMINARY EXAMINATION SAYS SHE WAS SUFFOCATED THEN." Gwen yelled loudly, looking up from the police report. People, seated nearby, glared in her direction. "THE AUTOPSY'S THIS AFTERNOON."

Owen gave a soft snort and tapped his ear as he swallowed. "It'll take a few days for her hearing to get back to normal. Not permanent." He wiped his knife on a slice of bread and began to shovel beans onto its buttered surface.

Gwen threw him a puzzled look before taking a bite of her fried egg bap, the yolk running down her chin onto the pieces of paper. She wiped them with her holly design napkin. "SAYS HERE THE MACMILLAN NURSE WAS KNOCKED OUT _BEFORE_ THE ATTACK." Again her voice carried around the café above the gentle bells of Christmas music.

"THEY DIDN'T KILL HER, WHY DO YOU THINK THAT WAS?" She looked around the table.

Jack smiled. "Maybe they were just after the sister." He raised his voice a little.

"Huh?" Gwen asked, watching the Captain's lips carefully.

Owen inclined his head towards Tosh. "Apparently they're not your normal flesh eating Zombies," he enlightened.

Gwen frowned. "BEES? WHAT BEES?"

"Oh for fuck's sake! ZOMBIES." He enunciated, laying a bacon rasher on top the beans and neatly rolling up the slice of bread. He looked down at his plate and frowned; people around them began to tut into their respective breakfasts'.

The doctor turned in his seat, stretching out a hand to grab the attention of a young girl who was clearing away tables. "'Ere, sweetheart, you wouldn't get us some brown sauce would you?" He gave her a warm smile.

The girl nodded and blushed under Owen's gaze, cautiously balancing her tray of soiled crockery. "Thanks." He winked at her, causing a vicious slide of cups which she managed to correct in time.

The doctor turned back to the others. "They didn't kill us either," Ianto stated, cutting carefully along the seam of a croissant. "I mean, they could have but they didn't."

Owen sighed. "They came bloody close, mate," he retorted, rubbing a hand across his throat. "In fact, so did you, you should see the fucking bruise on my back where you whacked me."

"Ianto hit you?" Tosh raised, taking another small bite of her omelette.

"WHO HIT WHO?" Gwen demanded, noisily.

This time the Welshman sighed. "I was trying to save Owen," he mouthed.

Tosh smirked. "By hitting him?"

Ianto spread butter along the warm, flaky, pastry. "Well, he's alive isn't he?"

Gwen looked from one to the other. "YOU HIT OWEN?"

The waitress came back and deposited a few brown sauce sachets on the table, she smiled at Owen, he didn't notice. Jack pushed his plate away. "I don't think they were trying to kill us," he said, reaching for his coffee.

"What!" Owen looked at him sharply; his outburst was not lost on Gwen, who turned her attention to Jack.

The Captain lent his elbows on the table and cradled his cup. "I think they were trying to delay us." He took a lengthy swig; it had been a long night.

The doctor ripped the packet with his teeth and squeezed it on his plate. "Delay us?" He spat out a plastic corner.

"So we couldn't get to Miss Bach," Tosh continued; Jack nodded.

"A waste of bloody time, if you ask me," Owen commented.

"Why?" Tosh demanded.

"Well, I saw the old girl's medical records, only had a few weeks left on the clock." He dipped his homemade sandwich into the dollop of sauce.

There was a reflective silence round the table.

"Are there any other relations?" Jack requested, looking to Gwen.

The ex-constable remained absorbed on the fan of documents in front of her; it was Tosh who answered. "No, according to the police records, Aeddan and his wife did have a son but he was killed in a motorbike accident in his early twenties."

"What about the Bachs' parents, are they still alive?" Jack glanced over the brim of his cup.

"No, their father was a fireman, died in Nineteen-fifty-one tackling a blaze in the village and their mother died in…" Tosh paused to grab the notebook Gwen was using; the ex-officer frowned briefly.

She flicked through the meticulous observations. "…Nineteen-ninety-four." Tosh handed the pad back and finished her omelette with a wistful chew.

"THERE'S A JOURNAL!" Gwen's voice boomed, startling several people on neighbouring tables.

The ex-constable put down her bap and sucked the egg from her fingers to track the statement. "THE MACMILLAN NURSE LEFT DYLIS READING HER GRANDFATHER'S JOURNAL. THE NURSE SAID SHE HAD BEEN MOST INSISTENT…"

"Gwen…" The young woman continued to read from the pages; Jack tried again. "GWEN!" He tapped her arm, she looked up and smiled. "I want you to get hold of this journal."

"I'LL LIAISE WITH THE LOCAL POLICE AND GET THE JOURNAL," she posed, closing the report.

Jack grinned. "Okay you do that. Owen, I want you in on the autopsy…"

The doctor looked up from polishing his plate. "She was suffocated…"

Jack smiled. "…They may need your expertise." Owen conceded with a shrug of his shoulders.

Tosh's laptop, which had been placed on a vacant chair like a sixth member of the team, began to bleep. "Tosh?" Jack looked at her.

She cleared a space on the table and carefully placed the computer down. "I ran a programme to clean up the images on the stones." She looked around apprehensively and gave a small shrug and a smile. "They're pretty weathered…"

"They're pretty old," Owen added, shoving the last of his bread in his mouth.

"But the software digitally reconstructed the impressions…" She looked admiringly at the screen.

"Drum roll please." The doctor swirled his thick cappuccino in an effort to mix it.

"Owen," Jack cautioned.

Tosh turned the screen round to show the symbols on the stones. "It's interesting how…"

"I recognise those." Ianto lent forward, dragging the laptop towards him, his eyes narrowing in contemplation.

"You… You do?" Tosh asked with a smile.

"You would". Owen rolled his eyes wiping egg from his mouth with his thumb.

"Owen!" This time it was a command as Jack watched the young man's eyes digest the rugged symbols. "Where Ianto, where do you know them from?"

The Welshman looked from the computer generated images. "The archive."


	10. Christ, Der Retter Ist Da!

**ANGELYSTOR**

Christ, Der Retter Ist Da!

Jack stood looking out the window, holding the thick cloth of curtain between his index and middle finger. Below him the wind tinkered with the dilapidated Christmas lights strung from concrete lampposts and skeletal trees. It swung on the twisted wire, bloating and then shrinking the shadows of the loitering dusk, suppressing the festive charm with its brisk surge.

School children, with their mobiles and cigarettes, strutted in collective groups and false assumptions of adulthood, oblivious to the chill, their carefree shouts adding somehow to the bogus scene.

Even the weather was false. Rain fell from a sky that had promised snow, although it was more drizzle than rain, a wet blanket of fine mist, quashing the spirit of the season, dampening all that glittered from the keenly lit windows of the high street.

His breath moistened the glass, smudging the scene like an out of focus lens, evoking distant memories. He smiled at their warmth.

Gwen sighed from the bed as she turned the pages of the journal. "Anything?" Jack asked.

She didn't look up. Jack rolled his eyes, letting the curtain drop from his fingers. He walked and sat down on the other bed. "Anything?" He asked again, looking to the notes the ex-constable had jotted down.

She tipped her head back against the pillows and closed her eyes for a moment considering the handwritten pages. "He has beautiful penmanship," she offered with a small smile.

"Gwen!"

"Ok…" She took a sip of water from a bottle at her side. "…William wrote this in nineteen-seventy-two, a couple of years after his wife, Margaret, died and before you ask, it was natural causes."

She looked down at the journal, using her pen to mark the page. "Basically, it's just snippets of their life together, where they met, the songs they like, their first date…"

"And the war?"

"Nothing yet and I'm over halfway through." She sighed, turning the book over.

Jack lent forward, clasping his hands in front of him. "When did they meet?"

She looked down at her notes. "September, Nineteen-seventeen, she was a Red Cross nurse stationed at… at." She looked to her notes. "…Lady Hadfield's Hospital; they married in December that same year."

"Nineteen Seventeen," he pondered. "Now that can't be a coincidence." Jack raised his voice slightly so Gwen could hear him.

She nodded, flicking through her notes. "His son, Edward, was born in November the following year…"

"The fireman?"

Gwen dipped her head. "It seems very hasty, they had barely known each other three months before they married, then, within a year, they had a baby."

"War does that," Jack reflected. "And the marriage lasted?"

"Fifty-two years," Gwen said with a warm smile. "Until Margaret's death."

"Did they live here all that time?" Jack looked to the carpet in thought.

"Yep." She tapped the journal. "William wrote how Margaret fell in love with Addoedsbren, she was from Leeds originally."

Jack squeezed his hands together. "Does it say if she's buried in the church?"

Gwen frowned and quickly flicked through the pages until she reached the beginning. Her finger picked up a passage of text and followed its loops and swirls; her lips moving silently in sync with the written word. She looked up. "She was cremated, it says, 'according to my wishes.'"

"What about the son, Edward, does it mention his death at all?"

Gwen shook her head. "Not so far."

Jack stood and walked toward the door. "Keep at it Gwen, I'm sure the answer's there somewhere."

He pulled out his mobile and attached his headset. "I'm gonna give Tosh a ring, see where her and Ianto are at and if she can track down any further information on William Bach's military career by using the Hospital as a reference point. Then, I'm going to pay Mrs Bach a visit, see if she can tell us whether the other family members were buried or cremated, also what plans Aeddan had for himself."

"You think it could be relevant?"

"Oh yeah, I've got a hunch," he said, pressing speed dial.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Ianto walked into the vast archive, the door hissed as it shut behind him. The lights automatically illuminated the rows of classified files, catalogued and amassed over time; this was Torchwood's take on history.

His steps followed his gait, clicking softly at his heels as above the old subway lights hummed under tempered glass. He didn't have to scour the extensive range of artefacts; he didn't even have to go through several of the secure boxes in his search, for Ianto knew exactly where he would find it. The symbols were committed to memory; his memory.

He located the box and keyed the electronic combination, lifting the lid when the release sounded. With care, he put on a pair of white cotton gloves before retrieving the preserved manuscript from its regulated container. He placed it down on a research table so he could remove the corresponding case notes that went with the fragile vellum pages. He quickly scanned them, one word leapt from the heavy typed pages; Addoedsbren. He frowned, annoyed that he hadn't bothered to read the report before now and picked up on the connection, but then, an illuminated manuscript was hardly considered hazardous or a top priority in the ever expanding Torchwood archive.

He walked across to the interface and tapped on the keys, feigning a search for the artefact.

"_Ianto it's Tosh."_

The Welshman tapped his earpiece. "Go ahead." His voice carried down the curve of the tunnels.

"_How's it going?"_

"I'm just running a search now, I've narrowed the parameters, so, should be with you soon." The lie permeated the seamless brickwork.

"_Great. Jack's given me some further information with regards to William Bach, so I'll crack on with that for now."_

"I'll let you know when I'm on my way up."

"_Thanks."_

Leaving the interface, as it digitally tumbled through each set of reference numbers in its quest, he looked down at the book.

The moulded leather had a simple, raised design, identical to that on the stones, in the centre, the modest impression of a cross, to the left, four lines, overlapped with another four and to the right, a vertical line with six diagonal shoots extending from one side (three pointing up and three pointing down) and four on the other (one missing top and bottom).

He let his fingers rest on the tanned hide, as if he could feel the secrets behind the tooled pattern, as if he could touch their history through the indentations. He smiled; for even though the designs were crude, by modern standards, there was a beauty in their workmanship.

Ianto slowly and with reverence opened the book.

The parchment page glimmered with life, like a stained glass window lit with sunlight the stretched skin was illuminated in brilliant colours, uncannily so given its age. Cinnabar, kermes, weld, Buckthorn and verdigris, smalt and woad, charcoal and shell gold, vividly mixed, filled the page to depict a disproportionate tree; a yew tree.

Ianto looked to the ripple of the bark, his focus drawn beyond the essences of colours to a deeper blend of their hue; a face stared back at him, a stark and hollow depiction that seemed to move within the confines of the painted wood.

Was it a trick of the light? He glanced overhead to check the source but there was no flicker from the bulb. He turned back to the image. The old harridan stared back, mouth open in a cruel smile of death. He stepped back as the head began to rotate, revealing a young woman behind the old, her silver hair coiling across the page like a nest of waking serpents but her eyes remained the same, callous and vengeful. Then, she too, turned into the parchment and the colours darkened into that of a crow. The bird unfurled the shadow of its wings and stretched out beyond the confined of the book, screeching with a bloodlust; Ianto swiftly closed the manuscript.

He touched his ear. "Tosh, I've located the manuscript…" He picked up both the leather bound book and the related file, tucking the latter under his arm.

"_Good work,"_ Tosh exclaimed.

"Um, there's something you should be aware of…." His words seemed to echo down the tunnels separating them both.

---------------------------------------------------------------------

Jack lifted his face to the rain, letting the icy shards splinter on his face. He looked back to the cosy glow of the terrace house, knowing, for all its pretence, there was nothing inside but a detached emptiness.

Megan Bach had looked much older than her sixty-two years, cosseted in a living room filled with too many torturous echoes of her loss.

'"It was expected,"' she had said, not looking him in the eye but focusing instead on the flames from the open fire.

'"With Dylis."' The Reverend Purst interjected as he held Megan's hand in his calloused grip.

'"But there was no goodbye,"' she whispered to the smouldering coal, her brown eyes reflecting amber in the light.

Jack knew it was all about the goodbye. To be able to confess your love for those about to die and to have them acknowledge the same. Without it, there was just an endless void of uncertainty, of unresolved tensions committed to memory and haunting those long days and unending nights.

Death is not kind to the living. The clock stops, the mirrors are covered, the curtains are closed and only the past preoccupies the mind; the future is a desolate and lonely place.

'"The curse,"' Megan had uttered, '"it came."' Her expression changed from the stony façade to one of a fatal comprehension.

The Reverend Purst pulled back his consoling touch; Jack doubted the Welshwoman had ever felt it. '"Dylis believed but, he Aeddan scoffed…"' Her eyes widened and, as if on cue, a lump of coal had toppled from the pile.

'"Megan,"' the untidy Cleric began, pushing his fingers through his oily hair and correcting his oversized glasses.

She had turned her attention to Jack. '"There are others,"' she warned. '"The dead will rise again and have revenge.'"

Jack had moved forward on the uncomfortable settee, balancing the cup and saucer he held. '"Revenge for what?"' He had asked, knowing for the moment, he had her full attention.

Megan shook her head and turned away, drawn once more to the smile from the open fire.

The Minister had shot Jack a sideways glance. '"I think that's enough, don't you."' He stood, tucking in his shirttail with one hand while snatching the cup away from the Captain with the other.

Jack had been ready to protest but the larger man had ushered him out the door citing God over Torchwood, while hitching his trousers up to reveal soft white socks.

And so he stood in the pinched winter air, looking back on the terraced house and the unlit string of festive lights hung from the porch.

"_Jack?"_ The voice bellowed in his ear.

"Gwen?"

"_Are you on your way back?" _

He pulled up his collar and turned to the road. "Yep."

"_Did you find what you were looking for?"_

He sighed. "William was cremated, so too was his son and it was Dylis' express wish."

"_And Aeddan?"_ She enquired.

Jack smiled. "His widow wants the same for him but it appears our assertive local vicar has other ideas. How you doing?"

"_I think I might have found something." _ He heard the rustle of paper.

"Good, we could do with a break."

"_Would you stop off on your way back and get photos of the War Memorial, I need a list of the names on it."_

"The War Memorial!" Jack kicked himself. "Of course."


	11. Stille Nacht, Heilige Nacht,

ANGELYSTOR  
_  
Stille Nacht, Heilige Nacht, (3)  
_

_William Bach _

_30th May, 1972 – Addoedsbren_

'_War, what can I tell you about it? _

'_I was thankful for it, I lived its lie, I became its tool and I survived its hunger for blood._

'_Yet, there was a price to pay for that survival and although, for many years, I thought my dues were done, recent events have led me to believe that I may have been wrong. There is still a balance outstanding and the cost is my blood._

'_Let me take you to where it all started._

'_I was a boy of nineteen who believed he was man enough to fight. It wasn't just me, others from the village and the surrounding area joined up to taste the glories of the battlefield. It was what we were sold and what we understood. We were encouraged to enlist together, promised that our friends would be with us, fighting side-by-side and for me, as for many others, it was a way out of the life we knew. _

'_Little did I know I would exchange the gloom of the Pitt for the darkness of war._

'_Stuart and Isaac Bevan, Evan Thomas, Charles Davis, David Bowen, Robert Edwards, John Howells, George Lewis and Richard Owen, boys I grew up with, men of my unit, men who would be sacrificed._

'_Even our CO, Thomas Rees, I knew. He was the doctor's son and had joined because the decision had been forced upon him. He had fathered a child out of wedlock by a local girl, Mari Cath Bowen, who had kept the child. While she had been sent away to live with some distant aunt in the Gower; Thomas Rees had 'chosen' war._

'_My own take on our CO was that he was good man, a little introvert perhaps, even brooding but he stood by his men and had the courage to lead by example; he did his best in difficult times._

'_Our first real test was Mametz Wood – over 200 acres of oak and birch, spread on chalk downland and defended by barbwire, gun batteries and machine gun emplacements. _

'_The battle was brutal and it changed me; it changed all of us. _

'_We were in the reserve trench as we watched the bedraggled units from the first attack limp past. Welshmen most, faces we knew and respected. They were soulless creatures, now, with empty and expressionless eyes. Our forward bombardment of the German lines failed to destroy their barbwire defences or their concrete bunkers. Even the mines we set off, prior to the attack, did little damage except to let the Huns know we were on our way. The men who were sent over the top on that fatal July day were mowed down in a hail of machine gun and rifle fire unable to progress because of the insurmountable lines of wire. _

'_It was hard for us, to watch and wait our turn, seeing those casualties troop past but it was almost like a wake up call and we were under no illusions as to how tough the task would be. Weary as we were, from our long march to join the frontline, we were ready. _

'_It was first light, eerily quiet, except for the hushed whispers of the men and the sound of my heart jumping against my rib cage. I put out of mind all those terrible thoughts of mortality, I had a job to do, a job I had trained for and now I was being called to do my bit. I looked over at George Lewis, his cheeks were flushed from the tot of rum in his tea, he nodded his head at me and I returned the gesture before checking my bayonet for the fifth time and waiting for the shrill of the whistle._

'_A sharp blast and a cry of 'over the top' took me, took all of us, from boys to men._

'_My momentum carried me downhill for the first 200 yards and although the air was full of battlefield noise all I could hear was my own laboured breath as I ran. I kept my focus ahead, not daring to look to the side of me, just trying to make it to the dip of the valley. Shells exploded, making shadows out of those in front, baptizing us in earth and blood. Men cried out, bullets whizzed past but I kept on running, trying to reach the wood. It seemed to take forever, men falling all around me, twisting with the strike of the bullet while I ran past, choking on the mist of powder and dirt thrown up from each thunderous blast. After I'd reached the dingle, there was a steep climb to the tree line which pulled at my idle calf muscles, inactive in the trenches far too long; but I made it, the blood pounding in my ears. _

'_Deadly splinters fell from trees as they were bombarded by heavy artillery from both sides. Some were even uprooted and collapsed without prejudice. The thick undergrowth hampered our progress and those who were left found their adrenaline spent. There was a respite in our advance. Men looked to one other, waiting. _

'_It was then I glanced back, it was then I saw the field of battle sown with British youth. The dead and wounded stacked in restless mounds, some whole, some in parts, blooming red against the earth. My heart stopped, there were so many. _

'_I looked to my fellows, they too had seen the fallen, they too could hear the desolate cries of pain. Something built up inside me, an anger, an anger at an enemy I had yet to see; but that was about to change. _

'_The slaughtered of the battlefield gave me the pluck to carry on._

'_As we advanced into the dense woodland bullets ricocheted off the wood and an unyielding sea of grey uniforms rushed us from underground bunkers. I fought them, at first, with a steadfast rage. I used my anger at the death of so many of my comrades to fuel my attack, until it left me weary and afraid; then, my only thought was for survival. _

'_There is no hesitation, no pause, no time to dwell when death is looming all around you, trying to catch you out. You become mechanical in your execution, you become detached, you become a soulless instrument of war, killing your enemy with indifference._

'_Their blood on your hands._

'_Kill or be killed. _

'_Body after body fell to my rifle and bayonet, littering the ground underfoot and adding to the destruction of youth. Explosions and gun fire deafened me to their screams. I only stopped when I was ordered too. _

'_We withdrew and dug in for the night. I saw George Lewis he, like me, was covered in the dregs of war. He looked at me and smiled, his teeth shining white against the grime, I found myself smiling back. We both looked as if we'd just come up from the Pitt. He came and sat beside me and we found ourselves laughing, partly in relief but mostly at the madness of it all. _

'_We were relieved the next day. Fresh troops, fresh blood to launch another attack. After yesterday's battle, after the buzz had passed, I was exhausted, my body ached, my mind shook with the comprehension that I had lived when so many had been sacrificed. I found I had no care for victory._

'_George and I picked our way back to the main trench, more aware now of the enemy fire, not wanting to cop one when our duty (for now) had been served. We paused, only briefly, when we recognised the body of Richard Owen, a boy from the village, who had been blown in two. He was 16 years old and had had a terrible stammer. He had lied about his age and we had said nothing, for he had wanted this war so badly. I didn't think I would be able to look his mother in the eye._

'_We were billeted that night in a barn full of rotting straw that we shared with an emaciated cow and dozens of happy rats. There were over twenty of us, crammed into every rafter of the dilapidated structure but exhaustion makes for good bedfellows. Our group of lads were lucky enough to secure spaces near the door, in which was led a plump tabby cat, who set about washing itself on our arrival while its narrow eyes kept a keen guard on the mounds of straw; I guess the beast was not about to share its own 'war rations' with anyone._

'_The barn was the property of an old woman, who seemed ancient in appearance, yet rugged enough to withstand the hell that had ruined her livelihood. She shuffled about us, dishing out great slabs of bread and butter and warm milk that had, in its creamy mix, a tot of brandy. Looking at the scrawny cow I wondered how it was possible for the wretched beast to provide such a feast. In fact Thomas, who had a splattering of French, had asked the same question. The old lady gave a toothless laugh that added more deep creases to her already furrowed face and slapped the animal on its rear, muttering, 'that in war we must all do our bit.' She held her smile as she looked at us and I found no mirth in it for it stopped short of her eyes, which were as green and keen as the fatted cat. _

'_Before we bedded down for the night, we sat in reflective silence, each man looking to his cup of milk as if it held the memories of the previous day._

'_It was Thomas who broke the spell or maybe it was he who cast it. _

'_For that night, proposed and toasted in the alcoholic milk, we made a pact, to watch each others backs. For all of us were still alive; the lads from Addoedsbren had only lost one of their number when so many had not come back. We thought it was a good omen but as we raised our steaming cups in muted elation a crow cackled from high in the wooden beams; it sent a chill down my spine…'_

"So what went wrong?" Jack asked looking up from the journal. "He named ten men, eleven including himself, one was lost at Mametz, but only five came through the rift. What happened to the others?"

"Only five kept the pact," Gwen explained, turning the page for him.


	12. Gottes Sohn, O Wie Lacht

ANGELYSTOR

_Gottes Sohn, O Wie Lacht_

The crow spread it wings across the page, tearing its form from the margins of the painted work. It opened wide its dark, spiked mouth to show the blush of its carnivorous gullet, emitting a piercing screech as it did; this time it was Toshiko who closed the book.

She gave Ianto that small hesitant smile of hers and shrugged. "Let's start with the cover, shall we?"

"Good idea," he replied, stepping closer.

Tosh ran the Data Scanning device over the images, bathing the leather in a soft, blue light. A digital copy immediately appeared on her screen and the young woman began running a decryption programme.

"When did you say this was found?" She asked, moving her keyboard nearer.

Ianto reviewed the notes he knew by heart. "Nineteen-hundred and four, when the church installed new heating equipment under the flagstones in the vestry…"

The interface gave a conclusive bleep; Tosh leaned closer to the screen. "I've got something." She zoomed in on the data. "I couldn't be sure of accurate results using the reconstructed images but these…" She turned to the Welshman.

Ianto closed the file and moved to join her. "Is it alien?" He asked, looking over his shoulder at the artefact.

Tosh placed her thumb and forefinger on the arm of her glasses and raised them off her nose. "It's Ogham, um…" She used the arrow keys. "…An early medieval alphabet used by the Celts…" She trailed off, rapidly clicking away on the keyboard.

"And the meaning?" Ianto asked, giving Tosh chance to scan the interpretation. She ignored the question, turning to her open laptop to cross reference the data.

"I'll make some coffee then," the young man stated. "Unless you need…"

"Coffee would be great," Tosh replied not even looking round.

When he returned, Tosh accepted the beverage with a thankful smile. She patted the chair beside her. "This one…" She pointed to the crossed lines highlighted on the screen. "…Is _Ebadh_, it relates to Aspen…"

"The tree?" Ianto asked, taking a swig of coffee.

Tosh nodded. "According to what I could find, Aspen was used to commune and visit the 'otherworld'. They have found crowns made from the leaves in burial mounds around the country, apparently so that the spirit of the deceased could return and be reborn. Its lightweight wood was also used to make shields for protection against both psychic and physical attack. Interestingly, it was popular to plant a tree close to a dwelling to guard against demons."

Ianto rested his chin between his thumb and forefinger. "And the other symbol?"

Tosh turned to look at him, his concentration remaining on the screen. "_Ido_, yew, the protector of the dead." She let out a long sigh and pushed at the bridge of her glasses.

"What is it?" Ianto asked, his mug poised by his lips.

"These symbols are known as branch Ogham, which means they were usually carved into trees, not stone." She sat back in the chair, nursing her mug with both hands.

Ianto studied the screen, his forehead furrowing slightly. "What if it's not a cross?"

"Sorry?" Tosh sat forward again.

"The middle symbol, because we found it in a churchyard we just assumed it was a cross…" He gulped down a slug of coffee.

"I don't…"

"What if it's meant to depict a tree?" He pointed to the image, his fingers tracing the crude lines. "Look, roots, branches, the canopy of leaves…"

Tosh narrowed her eyes. "I don't really see…"

Ianto rested a hand on her knee to prevent her query. "Pagan beliefs suffered with the establishment of Christianity, their way of life became absorbed into the new faith and a lot of what they worshiped was debased and turned into something evil."

He reached across to Gwen's desk, to grab the folder. "While you were checking your results, I re-read the church's history in the file." He allowed himself a small smile. "It was quite meticulous really," he mused in admiration. "Anyhow, the two pillar stones were moved during the Victorian extension of the graveyard. It also mentions there were two more boulders which had been severely damaged; these also may have bore medieval impressions. Each of these stones were, at one time, placed in the four corners of the churchyard…"

"For protection or to keep something in…?"

He blew out his lips in thought. "Maybe both, but don't you see, to make sure they weren't removed, whoever placed them there, inscribed the stones with a symbol that would be interpreted as Christian." Again, he traced his finger along the outline of the cross, to emphasize a tree within its shape.

Tosh raised her eyebrows. "But where does that leave us? All we have is conjecture at this point, nothing solid." She looked at her watch. "And time's running out for us to find answers."

Ianto downed his drink and placed it on the desk. "Come on." He stood, grabbing Tosh's jacket from the back of her chair.

"Where are we going?" She asked, pushing her arms through the sleeves.

"To someone who can help us decipher all of this." He closed down her laptop and handed it to her before picking up the manuscript.

----------------------------------------------

"Shouldn't we check with Jack first?" Toshiko trailed behind Ianto, her small heels clicking loudly on the cold pavement.

The young man turned his head to answer her. "No, not yet." He went down an alley, away from the main thoroughfare.

Tosh grabbed onto his arm. "Why?" She pushed the strap of her handbag back on her shoulder.

Ianto gave a rueful smile. "He doesn't trust him." He turned and carried on at pace.

Tosh took a moment before following. The passageway was a narrow and murky Victorian backstreet, sheltered from the light and colour of the City. It was peppered with cigarette butts, sodden litter and unsavoury puddles. It was bleak and full of imperfections, a split of cheap bed sits and iniquitous occupations that shone red through torn net curtains.

"Ianto wait!" Again her heels struck the icy concrete. "If Jack doesn't trust him, then why are we here?"

"Because I do and I know he can help us." His gaze held a conviction which swayed her for the time being.

He smiled, gently positioning her leather bag back on her shoulder. "It's just up here," he informed her, inclining his head.

She nodded just as her mobile bleeped, echoing between the terraced buildings. She reached into her pocket. "It's a text from Jack, a list of names he wants me to check with the military data base." She looked at him. "Let's hope this doesn't take too long, okay?" It was an empty threat.

He smiled and headed for a seedy little shop called _The Occult_.

-------------------------------------------------------

A sprung bell heralded their arrival. A man, with a shaved head and ears full of gold looked up from behind a glass counter filled with Wiccan novelties; his eyes were cloudy and white, his bare arms inscribed with ink.

The man smiled vaguely in their direction, moving from the counter. "Well, well, Torchwood Three, to what do I owe this unexpected pleasure?" The man's voice was hoarse and held a hint of antagonism.

Ianto moved closer, holding out his hand in an open gesture. "We need your help."

The man snorted, his piercings stirring with his head. "We?" He emphasised.

Ianto held the proprietor's opaque gaze. "I need your help, Teal."

He looked to the door, quirking a pale eyebrow. "Just you two?"

Ianto nodded and the man took a moment before taking his hand, squeezing it amicably. "Bet Harkness doesn't know you're here?" He suggested.

The Welshman smiled and the proprietor nodded, giving a meaningful grin of his own that would give Jack a run for his money. "Thought so," he added. "And who's this you've brought with you?" He turned his chalky gaze to Tosh.

"Toshiko Sato, meet Teal." Ianto paused. "Owner of 'The Occult'."

"Teal?" She enquired as he lifted her small hand to his lips.

He kissed the soft skin, it was feathery and light and surprisingly cold. "Yeah, it kinda adds to my mystery." He winked at her, the soft light glinting off his pale lashes.

"You like tattoos, Miss Sato?" Teal held out his left arm which was adorned in Celtic art.

"Or maybe you prefer dragons?" He showed her the richly decorated green and red beast snaked on his other arm. She stared as the tattoo began to unfurl its scaly body, moving under the confines of the skin. Its bulbous eyes turned their focus on her and it belched fire through its serpentine jaws; Tosh stepped back, Teal's eyes had turned amber.

"You're an alien," she gasped, instinctively reaching inside her bag; Ianto stopped her hand.

"We're here on business, remember?" He directed at the proprietor. "Not a floor show."

Teal smiled and bowed his head slightly, his veins showing blue through the skin. "Business, yes of course, I forgot myself, it's been a while since I've been able to show my talent. Please, Yan, you know the way." He gestured to the back wall.

The Welshman nodded and guided Tosh to a series of altar cloths that hung there. He drew one, patterned in Celtic knotwork, along its runner, revealing a door. He afforded the owner a glance as Teal locked the entrance and then opened the door.

"He's an alien," Tosh hissed, grabbing Ianto's sleeve before he could head up the staircase.

"No," Ianto corrected, taking her hand from his arm. "He's a Hybrid."

Tosh frowned. "One of Torchwood's successful genetic experiments," he confirmed.

The young woman stared in disbelief. "But I've never read any reports…"

He gave a small smile. "The programme was disbanded twenty years ago with mixed results. I believe the government stopped funding any further trials when the escalating death rate amongst the foetuses made them take the moral high ground."

"But surely there must be some record…"

"Torchwood's Earth-Alien Life-form experiment was buried Tosh, like all of its mistakes." He gripped the sweep of the banister.

"So, Teal worked for head office?" She surmised.

Ianto shrugged. "It was father and mother to him, it was home," he answered, slowly walking up the stairs. "Yet," he continued, "like most children he rebelled against their authority."

Tosh followed. "You knew each other?"

The Welshman looked over his shoulder. "We were friends…" He hesitated. "…Once."


	13. Lieb' Aus Deinem Göttlichen Mund

ANGELYSTOR

Lieb' Aus Deinem Göttlichen Mund,

Owen came through the door carrying a bag of chips, infusing the air of the small bedroom with the homely fare. Jack and Gwen looked at him expectantly which he ignored. He put the bundle of greaseproof down and opened the can of coke in his jacket pocket. He tipped it to his lips, suddenly aware of their scrutiny. He rolled his eyes. "She was strangled," he said, swallowing.

"That it?" Jack asked.

"Autopsies make me hungry?" He added, picking up the chips and offering them round.

"Sex makes you hungry," Gwen mumbled, blowing on her food.

The doctor smiled and sank down on the bed. "Where we at then?"

Jack looked to the turned page.

'… _After Mametz the Pals were disbanded, so many were from the same villages, see, so many were lost from the same families. HQ wanted them separated but we, somehow, were kept together; maybe it was down to some higher authority other than the British Commanders. _

'_As I have said before, the battle had marked each man of us. No longer were we those carefree souls who had left the lush green valleys and the darkness of the Pitts, war had taught us its lesson, it had aged us and tarnished the light of our youth._

'_Stuart Bevan became cruel and brutal. His eyes held such a pitiless glint there seem no humanity left inside him. War had given him a bloodlust and killing, for him, became a gratifying pleasure._

'_Charles Davies became fixated with death and his own personal rituals. He carried around with him several talismans as a testament to his survival and had a peculiar obsession reciting melancholy and macabre lines of poetry._

'_Evan Thomas, a simple boy, took it upon himself to care for a rat he had saved from drowning one night. That creature became his link to reality as, somewhere inside, he had shut himself away from the waking nightmare of all he had endured._

'_Isaac Bevan so wanted to emulate his robust older brother but it was not in his nature. A sickly child, at birth, with a gentle soul, he had a quick intelligence that, even now, I wonder at. He suppressed his fear, although his eyes spoke volumes of his inner terror, and took more risks than any of us with little regard to his own safety. He courted death to prove himself worthy of life. _

'_Thomas Rees kept to his own counsel, the sweep of early manhood gone from his face. He aged, as if time had crept upon him one night and given him twenty years of torment in its kiss. He would look at me, from deep within his gaze and I could see the responsibility for us engraved on his soul. _

'_I caught him, once, looking at some dog-eared photograph of a babe, worn by the constant rub of his thumb over the image; he had tears in his eyes and his countenance was one of regret._

'_You may ask me why I have not written about the others. Their story, like my own, follows. _

'_We were kept in reserve. Our time spent labouring, laying down duckboards and shoring up the waterlogged trenches, our enemy, this time, was both the weather and the terrain. The constant shelling had destroyed drainage canals in the area and tore up the surface of the reclaimed marshland; it changed the landscape of the battlefield into an ocean of liquid mud and water-filled craters. It was hard work and never ending._

'_George Lewis and I became close. We shared our news of home and our care packages and more importantly we would divulge, in confessional whispers, those creeping thoughts anchored in the back of our minds. _

'_One night, I found him, in the cramped dugout, running a candle along the seams of his clothing, popping the lice eggs with the heat of the flame. He didn't look up as I entered and I sat beside him, unbuckling my gumboots from the belt around my waist. I pulled out a tin of whale oil and a dry pair of socks from my pack and placed them carefully on the boards of the makeshift bunk. _

'"_Do you remember Richard Owen?" The question came out of the blue, his focus on the twisting taper of wax._

'_I nodded, stopping from my endeavour, drawn to the lap of the candle in the dim light. George turned to me. "I don't want to end up like that," he whispered against the snores of those sleeping above us. "I don't want my corpse left here, buried in a shell blast or in a shallow grave for the plough to find in years to come." I saw the lines of pain gathered around his mouth and eyes as he blew out the flame._

'"_George?" I enquired while he pulled off his own boots and I found myself looking down at the socks embedded on his feet. "When did you last dry your feet?" _

'_He shrugged, removing his bayonet to scrape the mud and filth caked onto the wool. His feet had swollen to three times their size and even, in the gloom, I could see the toes had turned blue; he had trench foot._

'"_Dear God," I exclaimed. "You could end up with an amputation!" It was severe, the blood had already begun blistering under the skin and part of his sole had been eaten away; I could not avert my eyes from his misery. _

'"_It's worth the risk," he replied._

'"_They'll know," I whispered sparingly._

'_He gripped my wrist, the fear returning to his eyes; he knew I was not talking about the Brass. "They won't find out."_

'_We exchanged stares until George picked out a pair of his own dry socks. _

"_The pact…?" I began._

'"_Sworn on the moment, it meant nothing." He sounded unsure and troubled._

'_I unrolled my socks to stop my hands from shaking; something inside me knew he was wrong.'_

"He was sent home," Gwen interjected, leaning over the journal. "They had to amputate his toes."

"Poor bugger," Owen added, stuffing a few more chips in his mouth.

Jack sat back and rubbed his eyes, laying the open book on his lap. "What of the others?" He asked.

"David Bowen contracted Trench fever, he died in hospital. Robert Edwards was killed by a sniper, but William wrote the man had lost all hope since they started a non-stop bombardment of German positions…" She drew his attention to a paragraph.

'_The whole place was nothing but a mass of bursting shells. We fired at them and they fired back. It was constant and never-ending, shells bursting day and night, splaying the earth and sending steel splinters in all directions. I don't remember sleeping during that time, even if you closed your eyes you could not block out the vibrations that jumped through your body and into your mind. Robert just got up and placed his rifle to the side. He calmly walked over to the fire-step and stood upon it. Above him the angry sky blazed with our thunderous explosions, in front of him the quagmire of no-man's land. He spread out his arms, making the most of his silhouette and inviting the sniper's bullet. It was one of those moments when time slows and you can do little to react. By the time I had, the deed was done, the shot lost in the chaos; he finally got to rest.'_

The room fell silent for a moment. "John Howells was ordered away from the unit," Gwen continued after the lengthy pause. "And transferred to the ASC, they were in dire need of drivers…"

"The who?" Owen asked carefully folding his chip paper.

"The Army Service Corps, they ferried food, equipment and ammunition to the troops." Jack answered quickly, returning to the journal. He scanned the next page.

"Messine Ridge," he said softly, closing his eyes.

"Jack?" Both Gwen and Owen looked at their leader.

He opened his eyes and gave them a sombre smile. "I was there," he said, handing the book back to Gwen.

He got up and walked across to the window turning his back on the room. Gwen continued with the journal.

'_On the 7__th__ June 1917, around three o'clock, a silence fell over the battlefield, after weeks of constant bombardment, peace was an unearthly sound. Men waited, the only sound was a macabre screech from a distant crow. Then, the order was given to detonate six hundred tonnes of explosives, in nineteen mines, placed underneath the German lines. The sound was tremendous, like a hurricane of noise, burrowing through the earth and opening up the ground around us. It was as if we had unlocked the gateway to hell and the devil and his carrion were dancing upon the Ridge before us. I covered my ears but it did little to blot out the thunderous blast. The day turned to night as dust, smoke and blood clouded the sky. Trees were tossed into the air like matchsticks and earth fell instead of rain. _

'_As the dust settled our batteries started their onslaught again, picking out known German strongholds._

'_My thoughts went to the enemy, those men like me who would now be buried in their concrete bunkers. But that was not the worst of it. When the go ahead was given and we entered the German line, we met no resistance; their forward defence was little more than a shell crater strewn with wreckage and body parts. The devastation was overwhelming. One trench, we came upon, was full of enemy soldiers poised for our advance. They were all dead. During the explosion the two sides of the ditch had come together and crushed them where the stood. It was an eerie sight, an army of the dead at 'stand to' for eternity._

'_Later, that night in the dugout, no man truly spoke of what he had witnessed that day. There was just sweet tea and bully beef, eaten in the constant flicker of a low hurricane lamp. The beef tasted tinny and old and, to be truthful, I felt little like eating. Evan Thomas came and sat beside me and offered me his melon jam. I wiped my pocket knife on my tunic and dipped it in the sweet jelly. It tasted the same as the beef. I smiled at him and he grinned back, rocking slightly with anticipation. "Did you see her?" He asked._

'_The air went still, my companions' eyes all burned in my direction; I swallowed. "She who?" I whispered gently._

'"_The lady," he answered, sawing off a bit of biscuit to dip in the jam._

'_I moved back a little on the bunk as I became aware of Stuart Bevan leaning towards me. "She was washing the stains from bloody uniforms." He watched me guardedly. _

'"_She was beautiful," Evan continued, scraping round the small tin with his biscuit to get the last vestiges of conserve. "She smiled at me."_

'_Stuart tutted. "She smiled at all of us," he added, his narrow stare never lifting from my face._

'_The hurricane lamp expanded our shadows and made holes out of the eyes trained in my direction. Thomas Rees glanced up from his own uneaten rations. "Did you see her Will?" He asked, holding me in his penetrating gaze._

'_I shook my head. "No, sir."_

'"_Then all is lost," he whispered, turning away from me.' _

"What the hell does that mean?" Owen cut in, draining his coke.

Gwen shrugged. "The next entry is about Passchendaele."

Jack turned his head in her direction. "You were there too," she said.

The Captain nodded. "'I died in Hell. They called it Passchendaele'"

He turned back to the coldness of the glass and shut his eyes. "Go on Gwen," he requested.

'_We waited on the tick of time, our 'last supper' of sausages and potatoes, washed down with a cold cup of cold tea that lay heavy in my stomach. Only the tot of rum offered some comfort, it burned through the cold summer night, making me blush like George Lewis before me._

'_We were to give covering fire and then follow the first wave over the top. I looked across at the others waiting in line, my feet moving against the stick of mud that covered the duckboards. Thomas Rees watched me cautiously for a moment before returning to his own vigil; I licked my dry lips, for some reason I was full of nervous tension. I wiped my palms against my tunic, feeling the weight of George Lewis' words on my soul. "'I don't want my corpse left here, buried by a shell blast or in a shallow grave for the plough to find in years to come.'"_

'_Neither did I._

'_I checked my rifle, my hands slipping against the bolt. Maybe it was the drizzle lacing the wind or maybe it was the strain of the moment but I couldn't get it to move. I tried again, cursing under my breath, unable to shift the mechanism; it was jammed. The others threw me a shaky glance from the fire-step, my alarm adding to their own. I aimed the muzzle to the ground as I wrestled with the stubborn bolt, trying to free it. "Dear God, please" I cried, looking from my trembling hands to those of my companions and the Lord saw fit to answer._

'_The bullet ripped diagonally through the inside of my calf and out of my ankle. I screamed in pain, just as the order was given._

'_I __never saw the lads from Addoedsbren alive again. After, what seemed an eternity of sporadic rifle fire from our trench, the second order was given and they stepped out into no-man's-land. My last memory was their downward looks of contempt as they disappeared into the fog of battle._

'_These pages were not written lightly. Time's reflection is somewhat difficult with age. Perhaps, in life, there are things we choose to hide from, yet it is death that makes us turn and face the mirror of the past. My Margaret is gone. She gave light to this darkness, she gave me family, all of which might never have been if not for that bullet._

'_Was it self inflicted? To this day I do not know; I do not want to know. It cost me my leg and as I sit here, I realise that the cost may have been far greater._

'_Dear Lord, this is hard to write and please, do not dismiss it as the ramblings of an old man still steeped in grief, because I see things more clearly now than before._

'_The night your father died I saw Thomas Rees standing across the road from our house. At first, I thought the apparition was a mere stranger, stopping under the street lamp to light a cigarette but when he looked up I knew with absolute certainty it was him. We stared at one another for what seemed like an age and then he just smiled and righted his cap. It was then the police car obscured my view, it was then they came to tell me about your father. _

'_Of course I refused to believe what I had seen yet there was a part of me that still questioned the sighting. _

'_There were nights, when the shadows were strong, that I thought I heard echoes of voices or following footsteps that turned into imagination._

'_I was not sure until the death of your grandmother for in my grief, the veil between worlds was lifted and I saw them again._

'_The graveyard was empty apart from the wind and the scrape of autumn leaves. A pall of mist still lingered from the morning and the great yew whispered its sinister secrets. _

'_The graveyard was empty but I was not alone._

'_I walked cautiously to Margaret's grave; the bouquet in my hand was trembling slightly and loosing its foliage. _

'"_Coward." The word hissed all around me. "You saved yourself and left us to rot."_

'_I looked over to the tree and there stood my comrades, their wounds unmistakable, I could even smell the nightmare of my youth upon them._

'"_This should not be." The voices manifested themselves out of the air. "The pact was for us all, to safeguard us all, so we all continued or died. This should not be."_

'_I was afraid and in my fear, I thought, I heard the voice of a woman laughing._

'_I see them now more often than not, waiting for my death. They have chosen not to take me but to haunt my waking hours and give me no peace in the night. I see each of their deaths, I feel each bullet, each blast, each gasp for breath; this is how they torment me._

'_My dears, when I am gone, do not come back to the village. Stay away from the reach of the tree, for your sake and for young Arthur's, for I believe it is damned. I have tried to persuade Dylis to leave but she will not recognise the danger._

'_I cannot escape this fate. They have told me so, their reach extends to Dylis and they will take her in my stead._

'_They are here now, outside my window, I hear the whistle of a tune and know my night will terrify me._

'_God give me peace._

'_God give us all peace.'_


	14. Da Uns Schlägt Die Rettende Stund

ANGELYSTOR

Da Uns Schlägt Die Rettende Stund'.

Teal made himself comfortable in an easy chair, sharing a look with Ianto. "After this we're even." His tone was no longer cordial.

Ianto nodded his agreement with this. Tosh looked between the two men. "Just so we're clear," Teal emphasised.

"Crystal." Ianto never dropped his gaze; the Hybrid's smile seemed a little too severe to be genuine.

"Okay then, let's get this over with," he said, lifting his t-shirt over his head and throwing it to the floor.

Ianto stepped over the discarded garment to place the manuscript on the side table next to the Hybrid. Teal licked his lips. "You going to record this or are all Torchwood employees gifted with total recall nowadays?" He gave Ianto a sideways glance.

Feeling a little flustered, Tosh reached in her bag and set her PDA on the coffee table. "Ready," she instructed, pressing it to record; Teal placed his hand on the manuscript.

Slowly and gracefully, an unknown writing scrolled across the Hybrid's skin. The script was alien in appearance yet it was also peppered with the Ogham symbols Tosh had investigated earlier. A light illuminated them from within, giving the images a glassy appearance and making them look like chiffon against Teal's milky flesh.

A crow began to shape itself from the lettering, drawing together the unknown text until its ebony form stretched under the confines of Teal's skin. It pushed its beak forward, as if trying to escape the taut layers of epidermis but was unable to make any progress. Teal's mouth dropped open and the bird's angry screech filled the room before it ruptured into a swirl of unfamiliar script.

His eyes turned to amber and he spoke with many voices. "We came to this planet when our own burnt and died. We came to guide and teach the peoples of this world and help them reach an enlightenment like our own. We remained in the background, becoming one with the population and holding all life in reverence, such is our way.

Maponus gave music…"

An image of a lithe youth became visible on Teal's skin. His head was bowed over a harp, his fingers dancing furiously over the strings. The music was light, yet its emotion played on the air, rising and leaping with the skip of their hearts. Tosh felt her consciousness drift as her mind explored the colours and patterns made by the bound of the tune. She turned to Ianto; his attention was firmly fixed on the Hybrid.

As the youth stood, his form shifted to one of a stag, a majestic beast whose gentle eyes held a depth of spirit.

Teal's breathing hitched and his eyes faltered for a moment, turning back to white before blistering into deep yellow. He took a yawning breath and his chest became a blank page. "Nodons imparted his wisdom of healing and his knowledge of plants and fauna."

A thick vine grew up over the folds of his ribs, its supple leaves unfurling in an elegant ballet of growth. The face of a large grey and white wolf slowly manifested across his skin, its bottomless stare holding Tosh's own gaze. Compassion and benevolence was reflected in its orbs as they gradually turned from animal to that of an old man. Like the youth before, the man's own colouring was an alabaster, making him appear ghostlike against Teal's skin. His hair was a respectable silver and his eyes seemed to be the deepest violet.

"Agroná gave fertility to the land."

A young woman with long flowing hair stepped across the Hybrid's torso, one hand clutching seeds which the other scattered onto the ground; following in her wake and casting their own shadow was a murder of crows.

"We did not wish to become gods, just to live here unmolested and in return to pass on our knowledge. For us this is a fascinating planet, with many diversities of life, it has great potential but we acknowledge that it is also in its infancy and the young can be temperamental.

"We tried not to interfere in the petty squabbles between the peoples of the land, for, though bloodshed is abhorrent to our own set of beliefs we recognise its significance in reaching a maturity of being. We hoped, one day, that through learning all wars would cease.

"What we did not foresee was the downfall of one of our own."

Teal suddenly stiffened and the air became damp and cold. A darkness crept into the room, its shadow forming that of a crow.

"Ianto…?" Tosh began, drawn to the encroaching shade.

The Welshman stood and moved to where Teal sat, letting his fingers hover over the Hybrid's hand. The older man turned his gaze. "I'm fine," he offered, taking his touch off the artefact and away from Ianto's proximity.

The coldness abated to the room's corners and the silhouette faded with it.

"Can you continue?" Ianto asked.

Teal rubbed his palm over his jeans. "In the drawer, to your left, there's a small packet of Aspen shavings, we may need them."

Ianto twisted round and pulled open a thin drawer under the side-table. He removed a small package from its interior and tucked it in his suit pocket. "The imprint's strong?" He looked to the manuscript.

"I've got it," Teal snarled with certainty.

"Sure?" The Welshman's gaze penetrated the other man's.

"You, just be ready to stop it."

Ianto nodded and went back to the couch. "Some species leave an impression of themselves in the script; their emotions, especially if strong, can overwhelm a 'host' and use them to push through the written and into the here and now," he explained.

Tosh looked between the two. "And that'll stop it?" She asked, indicating to the shavings.

Ianto smiled. "Let's hope we don't have to find out." He tapped his pocket.

"You put a lot of faith in him?" Tosh watched the young man's reaction carefully. His gaze shifted to the PDA; Tosh switched it off.

Ianto looked down to his hands. "He helped me with the difficult move to London," he informed her. "He became both my mentor and my friend." His voice broke slightly with the admission.

She turned back to Teal. "Then why doesn't Jack trust him?"

The young man remained silent. "Ianto, I need to know."

He glanced in her direction. "He's part of the Alien Underground Network."

"What!" Teal looked across at Tosh's outburst.

Ianto gestured for him to continue. "How big a part…" She held the young man's gaze.

Ianto shrugged and lent forward. "He one of the founding members."

"Ianto…"

"He owes me Tosh but if it's a problem, you can step out at any time." He gave her a sideways glance.

Tosh shook her head, watching as some psychic energy entwined itself up the coiling tattoo on Teal's arm. "If we know who he is, then why don't we just pull him in?" She whispered.

Ianto sighed. "Because we can keep an eye on the Network's movements by monitoring Teal."

She looked amazed. "He knows." It wasn't a question.

Ianto smiled. "Yes, and it keeps their activities to a minimum because _they_ know we're watching."

"But the latest reports say that those _activities_ are escalating, the bomb last month…" Her voice rose slightly.

Ianto's gaze remained fixed on his mentor. "We disarmed it before it caused any damage and we pulled in those responsible."

"But not the ring leaders…"

"No, not the ring leaders." He sighed again and turned to her. "Tosh, there are only five of us. Our time is mostly spent fire-fighting what the rift throws at us." He nodded at Teal. "Their network is vast and can be very useful sometimes, so, as long as they supply us with the information we need and police their own ranks we will continue, at best, a tenuous relationship with them…"

"But the bomb." She spoke through gritted teeth.

"There are a few violent elements within their structure but believe me, we're on top of it." His stare hardened.

"_We're?"_ She reiterated, her own gaze just as demanding.

"Jack and myself…" He paused. "…And UNIT of course."

"And _us_, Ianto, the_ team, _don't you think we…"

The young man pushed his fingertips across his forehead into his hair. Tosh caught a fleeting glimpse of the constrained emotion furrowed in his brow. "Ianto, what are we really doing here?"

"Getting the information we need to continue our investigation." His blue eyes became veiled.

Tosh nodded and switched the digital device back on, leaving her many questions unanswered. She let her gaze returned to the other man.

"After many years of living and watching the growth of your species, Agroná became enamoured with one of your kind." A crowd of angry voices packed the room.

A face, painted in woad, pushed its screaming image at the tight skin of Teal's chest. "She threw away her teachings and donned a mask of humanity to become his consort. Her heart overruled her principles, going as far as to produce issue, a son, a half-breed warrior prince."

Teal's head slumped down to his chest; his breathing became irregular and hitched in his throat. Ianto immediately jumped to his feet, feeling the ebb of darkness that entered the room. The Hybrid let out a strangled rasp and lifted his head; his eyes had changed to a polished onyx.

Ianto looked to the image engraving itself upon the other man's skin, like a new acquired tattoo it was all ink and blood. Agroná's face rippled against the rhythm of Teal's breathing; her expression was pinched with sorrow, her eyes were deadly and cold.

She spoke; her tone was one of grief and anger. "They came, one night, men with slaughter on their minds and greed in their hearts. We fought but we could not contain their numbers; they killed my lover, they killed my child."

She let out a terrifying screech that almost toppled Ianto off his feet; several dogs in the street below began to howl.

Her smile was cruel, her voice dipped to a menacing whisper. "But I had my revenge and it was absolute. I rallied those under my sovereignty and together we soaked the ground with their blood and crushed their bones to dust in the earth. Men, women and children all fell to my vengeance until my mind throbbed with their screams and my blood pumped with their fear. I reaped the harvest of the seeds they sowed." She laughed, it ripped through the room, tearing at the hearts of both Torchwood employees.

"The carnage was exhilarating, the sheer violence gave me purpose, it created a beast within me I had no reason to quell."

She licked her lips; her tone sullen and harsh. "You are such small-minded creatures, you covet what is not yours, you desecrate what you do not understand and you are full of petty jealousy, greed and bursting with your own self-importance. All it takes is one gentle whisper, one small catalyst of desire, one iniquitous mistake to insult your superficial pride and release the primeval bloodlust that links you all."

The room began to shake, outside something tore at the fragile brick work, dislodging years of dust and grime from the squalid terraces. A backwash of fetid water coursed from an open grid cover, sloshing along the gully, bringing forth the rotting remains of slimy litter and organic debris. The lights flickered and the wind stirred from where it slept, lamenting like a territorial stray cat.

Teal began to shudder, his body racked with convulsions. Ianto stepped toward the man only to be thrown backwards. The Hybrid stood, breaking his connection to the book, drawing the shadows from the corners of the room; shadows that stalked the light.

Tosh helped Ianto to his feet, watching as the broadening darkness began to surround them, shaping itself into silhouettes of men with spears and knifes.

"Ianto?" Tosh's voice trembled slightly at the sight of the faceless figures; this was out of her comfort zone.

The Welshman instinctively reached into his pocket and threw the shavings towards the stir of the shadows. He watched them scatter from his hand and for a moment they hung in the air like a surreal visual effect. Then, they fell against the darkness, burning through its hostile cloud and carving its pitch with a splay of illumination. It screamed, gathering itself into the form of crow once more, wings extended and flapping, before dissipating in the fierce scorch of light.

Teal fell back on the chair, shivering. Ianto watched him a moment, his grasp still retaining a few of the shavings. They shared eye contact, the younger man searching the other's pale gaze. The Hybrid gave him a cold smile that was all his own. Ianto nodded and stepped back, flicking the light switch on the wall. "The bulb's blown," he commented, flipping it again for good measure.

"Try the table lamp," Teal offered.

Tosh lent forward and turned on the heavy pewter light. Its square shade bathed the room in a soft glow, making her feel a little more secure.

Ianto settled himself by Tosh. "Do you think it's safe to continue?" She gestured to the remaining shaving stuck to the younger man's opened palm.

Ianto shrugged, picking at the pieces of wood. "We still need to know the connection with Addoedsbren. Teal?"

The Hybrid wiped a hand over his face. "I'm good to go," he offered. "By the way, you were right not to try and decipher this in house, not that I would have minded Torchwood's destruction, it's just this could take out a substantial chunk of the city if handled incorrectly and I value my own skin too much to let that happen." His stare lingered on Tosh, making her shudder involuntarily.

"I guess I'd better re-categorise it when I get back to the hub then," Ianto suggested, rubbing his hands together to dislodge the last of the Aspen.

"I guess so," Teal reiterated with a grin, placing his hand back onto the book.

Once more the alien script tore across upper body and the ancient voices filled the room. "Agroná's heart became a shadowy place full of base emotions that turned her into a vindictive creature with no compassion for mankind. She found her way into the insecurities of men, to feed her addiction for that powerful spill of emotion in the split-second when life becomes death.

"We did what we could to counter the change within her but it was to no avail. Still bound by our own beliefs our only course of action was to give her a life without death, in hope, that in some way, she would be able to atone for all the suffering she caused."

The Yew tree stretched across Teal's torso. "We destroyed the corporal and imprisoned the spirit inside the sacred yew, hoping time would cure her of the desire for blood and the magical properties of the tree would help restore the balance within. We sanctified the ground and placed within its corners four imbued stones to prevent her demon escaping with the spread of the ancient roots. The site was already used to bury the bodies of your kind and we believed that by surrounding her with both death and grief it would slowly wean her off her brutal dependency.

"Only time will tell."

The last trace of alien script trailed across Teal's body, three foreign symbols joined by the natural flow of the ink; life, death, rebirth.

Tosh looked at Ianto. "How come I can read...?"

The young man narrowed his eyes. "Because the words are important." He didn't know why, he just knew they were.

The images vanished from Hybrid's chest and the symbols on cover of the manuscript glowed with a burning light until they fused together. Ianto stood and went to the artefact; the hide had bubbled with the heat and melted away from the oak board, revealing a single crystalline tear that made rainbows of the light. The young man ran his finger over its jewel, feeling the faint tremor of a heartbeat under its frozen glass. He stepped back and walked over to a drinks cabinet.

Teal slumped back against the cushions in the chair, his eyes returning to their unnatural white. "They put too much faith in mankind," he scoffed, looking at the artefact.

Tosh inclined her head. "How so?" She asked, switching off the PDA and slipping it into a side pocket of her bag.

He rubbed a hand over his beardless chin. "They believed you'd reach a utopia of existence." He licked his parched lips, his words cracking his dry throat.

"Maybe we will." She challenged.

Teal lent forward, amused. "Ah, Miss Sato, ever the optimist I see, you want to watch out, Torchwood will break you of that. Isn't that right Ianto?"

The young man was pouring his mentor a drink. He ignored the question, his focus remaining on the flow of deep yellow liquor. The Hybrid sniffed at the lack of response. "There's ice in the bucket." It was more a command than a request.

Ianto lifted the plush, stainless steel lid and picked up the matching tongs. "One lump or two?"

"Surprise me," Teal replied pulling his t-shirt back over his head.

Ianto froze for a moment and bit his lip. He gently pinched a block of ice between the serrated ends of the tongs and carefully let it drop into the crystal glass. He watched it sink into the saffron liquid and push its way up from the bottom.

"I should give Jack a call." Tosh looked between the two men; there was something latent smouldering in the air around them.

Ianto's concentration was not on her statement. "Yes you should." He didn't bother to look at her as he picked up the drink in the curl of his hand, his fingers spanning the rim.

"You'll need to walk to the end of the alley, there's no signal here," Teal informed her, his eyes not leaving the approaching Scotch.

Ianto handed it to him and the man smiled his gratitude but the grin held a hint of contempt. Tosh pulled her mobile from her bag and checked the signal; she sighed.

"I told you," the Hybrid sneered, absorbed in the movement of the ice hitting the side of the glass.

Tosh flicked her gaze at him and gathered her handbag. "Ianto…" She seized the young man's arm.

He placed his hand over her's. "Give Jack a ring Tosh, he needs to know what we've found out." His eyes held her own as she fished for some clarification. "Tell him I've got this," he whispered.

"Ianto…" He guided her to the door and opened it.

Tosh looked back to the room; Teal glanced up from his drink and gave her a full smile; she found her discomfort growing. "And tell the good Captain that he can't defeat this, he can only stop it, for now." There was a hidden meaning in his words.

Ianto handed Tosh her coat. She went to say something but the young man stopped her. "We're just going to relive old times," he said softly.

It did nothing to alleviate her anxiety.


	15. Christ, In Deiner Geburt!

ANGELYSTOR

Christ, In Deiner Geburt!

Ianto went and sat back down, putting some distance between himself and Teal. The Hybrid sat forward in the chair, watching the ice-cube eddy with the movement of his hand. He glanced up. "You still getting the headaches?"

Ianto licked his lips. "I've learnt to live with them."

The older man looked towards the door. "They know?"

Ianto's face gave nothing away as he shook his head. Teal pursed his lips, fostering the glass with both hands. "What about Hark…"

"Yes." The Welshman's interruption was brusque. 

"You told him?" There was derision in his tone as he raised a doubting eyebrow. 

"Yes." Ianto held his mentor's gaze.

Teal nodded, looking into the surface of the Scotch. "How about that diary, seems a bit superfluous?" His smile was cold.

The Welshman shrugged. "It helps to write things down."

Teal inhaled through his nose. "Course it does." The ice-cube bobbed merrily in the liquid, distorting his reflection.

Ianto edged forward, resting his arms on his lap, idly pondering the seconds ticking from his watch. He rubbed the leather strap. "I never thanked you for coming back." He looked up at the other man, his gaze faltering under the strain of Teal's blank stare.

Ianto laced his hands together. "And just for the record, I never told Jack."

The Hybrid gave a cynical laugh and placed the glass down on the coffee table with a quiet thud. Ianto spared a glance at the untouched drink. "He guessed." Teal's words were sharp enough for Ianto to feel their edge. "He came over that night, beat the crap outta me. He's no fool." He dragged a hard hand across his mouth. "And neither are you, Ianto."

The young man looked up. "You know why I helped you, a partially converted Cyberman, hey, too good an opportunity to miss and if it all went tits up, well…" Teal's stare was hard. "All that information, all Torchwood's grubby little secrets…" He touched the side of his head. "…You were both a commodity worth saving." 

He picked up the glass, dangling it by the rim. "Why are you _really_ here Ianto?"

---------------------------

The rain was soft and cold. Tosh listened to her mobile dial each preset digit, its tune playing against the wind. Every now and then she spared a fleeting glance over her shoulder back down the alley. She wrapped her free arm around her to combat the bitter air, willing Jack to pick up.

"_Yeah."_ Tosh sighed with relief.

"Jack it's me." 

"_What ya got?"_

"There's an alien entity imprisoned in the yew." A large man walking a small dog stopped and looked at her. She smiled innocently and turned away from him.

"_What?"_ He wanted clarification.

"There's a manuscript in the archives, Ianto's…" She hesitated. "…Teal translated it."

There was a pause, it extended into a sharp intake of breath. _"Tosh where are you..?"_

-----------------------------------------------------------

Teal held up the glass, staring at the younger man through its golden hue, his question developing in the silence between them. "We needed a translation and fast, so I called in a favour." Ianto answered, his gaze lingering on the Scotch as he felt the pulse of the seconds against his skin.

The older man shook his head. "Don't play_ me_ for a fool, Yan," he spat.

"I'm not. You said yourself how dangerous the manuscript is." Ianto demeanour remained steadfast. 

Teal laughed and shook a finger at the younger man in mock delight. "Touché," he replied, reclining back against the cushions and resting the drink on his lap. "So, how's this gonna play out?"

Ianto watched him. "You and me," the Hybrid reiterated. "'Cos now I owe you nothing, the slate's clean; it's open season between us." His face darkened. "Calling in your favour was a _big_ mistake."

Ianto mirrored his stance. "Really?"

"Oh come on Ianto, let's put our cards on the table so to speak. We both know I can't fart without you picking it up…"

Ianto arched an eyebrow. "Or try and blow up a tourist barge…"

Teal's smile widened. "So, Harkness sent you to do his dirty work?" He held up the drink. "Poison?"

Ianto held back the urge to swallow. "No, sedative, we don't want to start a war neither of us can afford…" He stopped. "…Yet."

Teal laughed. "So, you were going to take me in?" He tipped the Scotch onto the carpet, the liquid soaked into the pile leaving a dark stain.

"I'm curious Yan, why now, why not a month ago?" The Hybrid's hand hovered by the manuscript; Ianto watched the movement cautiously.

"Because you're about to drop off_ our_ radar." He lent forward, his words sounding stronger than he felt.

"Ah." Teal's smile was one of tolerant surprise. "I should have foreseen that, I thought I'd hidden my tracks."

"Not from me."

"No, and really I'm quite flattered to think it was because of my training."

"Indubitably," Ianto answered with a tilt of his head.

Teal's face hardened. "But your big mistake was coming here alone, with no back up, well, apart from the lovely Miss Sato that is." Teal laid his hand back on the book, shaking his head. "You've got sloppy, since you moved to Cardiff, I really thought I'd taught you better." 

This time Ianto smiled. "You did."

Teal studied him a moment before his eyes turned black.

----------------------------------------------------------

"_What the hell's Ianto playing at!" _ Jack's voice echoed off the buildings; Tosh moved the phone away from her ear, glad she didn't have her headset on. 

"_Tosh you've got to get back in there, do you hear me, but take care, the Hybrid's far more dangerous than Ianto's let on. Keep a line open, I want to hear what's going on…"_

"That maybe difficult, Jack, there's no signal…"

"_Just keep it open!"_

------------------------------------------------

The shadow's churning cloud billowed up the walls and across the ceiling. The light from the lamp was engulfed in its slow advancing roll across the room. Ianto tried to sidestep its pall but it increased its speed; he reached for his gun. "I took a bullet for you," he reasoned, pressing his back against wall.

"Yes you did." Teal's voice was hollow and carried on the pitch of the vapour as it twisted itself into the shape of a man.

The form grabbed Ianto's wrist and squeezed the gun from his grasp before he could get a shot off. It then pushed him against the wall its blurred finger's reaching for his throat. "That's why I'm not going to kill you straight away." 

Its faceless head dipped close to his ear. "By the way, I'm curious, which drug did you chose?"

Ianto looked to the spill of liquid and then to his watch, allowing himself one more smile.

---------------------------

Tosh slipped on the icy pavement as she ran back to the shop, as she picked herself up she saw several hazy figures moving towards her. She froze.

"_Tosh, talk to me!" _ Jack's voice hissed with static

She wrestled her gun from her bag, dropping the mobile onto the street.

"_Tosh."_ She fired at the dark, ethereal, shapes.

"_Tosh!" _

Ianto's attention turned to the window, the smoky hand hauled his attention back to the room. "Ah, now that will be Miss Sato coming to the rescue." Teal's face was emotionless. "Too bad."

Ianto's watch gave four decisive beeps. "XJ33," he whispered against the hand on his neck.

Teal shuddered and the grip on Ianto's throat slackened. "What?"

"You asked me what drug I used." The Welshman stroked the cold imprints left by the haze.

The Hybrid swayed slightly, touching his forehead with his fingertips. "I've never heard…" 

"No, you haven't." The murky form shrank back as Teal fell to his knees, knocking the manuscript from the table.

He looked up at Ianto. "But I didn't drink it." 

The young man peeled off a plastic covering on his fingertip. "It's absorbed through the skin. I smeared it on the bottom of your glass." 

The fading daylight pierced the room, stabbing the last vestiges of the shadow.

"What is it?" Teal gasped, wrapping his arms about him to relieve the sudden onslaught of pain.

Ianto crouched down beside him. "It breaks down the added alien DNA in your system. Dr Hicks developed it."

Teal stared at the young man. "Dr Hicks was a monster," he spat, licking his swollen lips.

Ianto considered this as he helped the Hybrid back to the chair. "Yes, he was." 

He went back to the drink's cabinet and took out a bottle of water. Ianto unscrewed the cap and took a sip before handing it to Teal. He perched on the arm of the chair. "It took some years for him to perfect the formula. Apparently they wired this failsafe into your DNA which the drug triggers. I came across it by accident the other day, found it in a containment box from Canary Wharf. You have to admire the regime, they were nothing if not thorough." He tapped the bottle with his finger. "You should try and drink something." 

The Hybrid spread a shaky hand across his face, smearing the blood that was seeping from his nose. He looked down at its stain and then to the bottle in his other hand. "Side effects?"

Ianto pushed himself off the arm and went to retrieve his gun. "A few," he said, placing the weapon back in its holster. "Your body's going to loose all that makes you alien, all those abilities you squandered."

The two men looked at each other. Teal went to stand but his legs betrayed him. He tumbled forward onto the carpet. His breathing caught in his chest. "I'll be blind, Ianto, please…"

"You planted a bomb on a tourist cruiser filled with men, women, and children…" This time the young man did nothing to help the other to his feet.

"To send you a message, we knew you'd find it before it exploded…" 

Ianto put on his coat. "We got the message, consider this our reply." 

"Yan…" The Hybrid reached out along the carpet.

"I hope your friends have a use for you because Torchwood will no longer be requiring your services." Ianto turned his back and began buttoning up the wool blend coat.

"You bastard!" Teal screamed into the looped pile.

The young man retrieved his gloves from the pockets. "Yes and you _should _be proud."

Teal began to laugh; "What's so funny?" Ianto asked, looking back.

The Hybrid's eyes bore into his soul. "You still can't do it, can you?"

Ianto turned to pick up his scarf, holding it a little too tightly.

Teal made it to his knees. "Most _men, _men like good ol' Captain Jack, would have put a bullet between my eyes, killed me outright, no matter what the consequences…"

"Maybe that's too good for you…" Ianto squeezed the woollen material in his grasp.

"You keep telling yourself that but I know you Ianto Jones, deep down, inside that _Cyber_ three piece suit, you're still that vulnerable boy from Newport." Teal words struggled through the pain.

Ianto placed the scarf around his neck. "You're wrong, I've changed, you saw to that…" 

"Am I? Then prove it…" He paused, his body steeped in agony. 

Ianto bit his lip, his hand stretching beneath his coat, his eyes filled with the turbulence of his thoughts.

Tosh burst in through the door, gun raised; She looked between the two men. "Ianto..?"

Teal fell back on the floor and began to laugh again.


	16. Chapter 16

**Angelystor **

Silent night, holy night

Tosh turned off her PDA and placed it back in her bag, waiting as the others digested Teal's revelations. She looked across the room to the window, the brilliance of the moon holding her attention through the thick gauze of net curtain. She shivered as a few soft clouds moped across the light, reminding her instantly of the figures that attacked her earlier.

"So, trapped alien entity then," Gwen said into the reflective silence, drawing Tosh away from her thoughts.

"With a death fetish," Owen added. "I knew a girl like that once." He picked up the manuscript; Tosh snatched it from his examining grasp.

"I wouldn't do that if I was you." She shook her head. "Bad idea."

Owen crossed a leg over his knee, making himself comfortable on Tosh's bed. "You know what amazes me?"

The team's interest piqued and they waited in anticipation. "How Super Suit, over there, remembered this was in the Archives." He gestured to the artefact with a flick of his head.

Ianto straightened his tie, moving further into the room from where he stood at fringes of the replay. "It's part of my job Owen." He glared at the doctor, the depths of his feelings skimming the surface; it had been a testing day.

"I'm not convinced," the other retorted, with a look of feigned innocence. "Are you sure you weren't upgraded at Canary Wharf? We found numerous bodies where the Cybermen had experimented on reprogramming the brain, the tops of their heads' opened up like a boiled egg, not a pretty sight, some were still alive, poor sods, babbling like idiots…"

"What happened to them?" Gwen asked, horrified.

Owen raised a knowing eyebrow. "What do you think?" There was a hint of regret in his voice. "They were 'put down,' to save us from another Cyber invasion, who knows what thoughts were lurking in their heads…" He paused for breath, waiting to expand on his earlier question, fixing Ianto in his sights.

Only the Captain saw the young man flinch under his steady veneer. "Okay, enough." His warning glance silenced the doctor. "We need to find a way to stop this entity and soon." Jack swiped a tired hand over his face as he looked at his watch; it was almost nine-thirty.

"What about placing the stones back in their original positions?" Gwen looked up from the copious notes she had made. "It stopped Agroná before." She placed a well chewed pencil to her lips.

"It may not be that straight forward," Tosh put in. "There were no energy readings stemming from the stonework, it could be that whatever force was holding her in has declined over time. So, even if we did set the stones in place there's no guarantee that they'll work."

"Okay then, plan B anyone?" Owen looked around the room.

"Agroná's utilizing the rift energies to open a portal between past and present; we need to break her connection." The team looked at Jack.

"Which is?" Gwen asked.

"The dead of Addoedsbren." Jack kept his gaze steady. "They've been nourishing the yew for generations but they're not enough to sustain Agroná's appetite, she hungers for the emotional, she thrives on that moment just before death."

"The rip of the soul from the body." Ianto lent against the open door of the en-suite; the room took his words with a slight echo.

Jack's eyes looked through the young man, his focus drifting for just a moment. He coughed. "And that's something she can't get here, not in the vast quantities she needs. So she used the rift and followed Addoedsbren's blood trail through time until she found enough suffering to feed that addiction."

"A virtual smorgasbord of trauma," Owen added, stretching from the bed in one fluid movement.

"And her power's stronger in the past." Jack picked up the journal. "We know that because she can manifest herself into the forms both Tosh and Ianto witnessed in the manuscript."

"The old and young woman and the crow." Gwen deduced.

Jack nodded. "But here she's still imprisoned, she hasn't got enough power to escape from the bind of the yew."

"Yet." Ianto stated with a flick of eyebrows.

"Yet." Jack confirmed.

"But why can't she just channel the rift energies to escape?" Gwen asked.

"My guess would be that they're unpredictable and hard to control. She can just about use it to anchor herself between the two points in time." Tosh opened up her spectacle case and gently unfolded her glasses. "At some point the surge of energy she's using will disperse. The bubble's been slowly expanding since around the nineteen-fifties…"

"When William's son was killed." Gwen reflected, sombrely. "So she's using the soldiers' vengeance to give her what she requires until she's powerful enough to free herself."

"And her grip between the two time frames is growing with the rift," Jack stated.

"Surely it would take a lot more deaths than _team zombie_ have a grudge against." Owen grabbed a bottle of water from the mini-fridge.

"Who's to say she'll stop, there," Ianto said, snatching the bottle from the doctor's grasp with a smile; Owen sighed and opened the fridge again.

"The more powerful she gets, the greater her reach." The Welshman unscrewed the top and took a sip.

"And the greater her reach, the more powerful she gets." Owen concluded, pushing the cold bottle to the bruising on his neck.

"So how do we do it, how do we break Agroná's hold on the village?" Gwen looked around the room.

Tosh cleared her throat. "We brought back some Aspen shavings and some stakes from The Occult storeroom…"

"Great, now we're fighting zombies with confetti and sticks," Owen remarked. "Didn't think to bring back anything useful then, say, like a rocket launcher?"

"Boys and their toys," Gwen said with a smile directed at Tosh.

The Asian woman sighed. "The Ebadh symbol was on the manuscript and the shavings repelled whatever intent was in the translation." She tapped the artefact.

"Thank you Hermione Granger."

"I see those book tokens, Tosh gave you for your birthday, have been put to good use." Ianto cut in dryly.

Owen gave a snort and opened the water.

"Okay guys, let's get started, I have a feeling it's gonna be a long night." Jack looked round the room until he was the focus of everyone's attention.

"Tosh I want you to carry on with researching the symbols and any folklore connected to Agroná, Maponus and Nodons. Gwen, try and locate the families of George Lewis and John Howells. If there are any remaining in the village I'd like to move them out of harm's way and stop the entity from feeding on their deaths. Get the local plod to help you with that." Gwen rolled her eyes.

"Owen, see if you can determine the stones original positions around the graveyard

"But I thought…" He began, swallowing a gulp of water.

Jack held up his hand. "It can't hurt." He looked across the room at Ianto, for his part the Welshman met his gaze. "Ianto, a word." His tone was stern making the other three team members exchange glances.

Jack opened the door and gestured him into the corridor, the younger man casually twisted the top back onto his water before complying. Jack watched him exit and turned back to the others. Gwen and Owen's gaze fell quickly, only Tosh held her own; Jack gave her a gentle smile before shutting the door behind him.

* * *

Ianto stood in the middle of Jack's room as the Captain entered, looking somewhat out of place in the unpacked chaos.

Jack leant against the closed door and crossed his arms. "Sit down".

The young man hesitated looking from the chair to the double bed. "I prefer…"

"Sit." Ianto swiftly chose the bed, throwing the water bottle to one side; Jack repressed an ironic smile.

The young man looked at the Captain, challenging his disgruntled gaze. He cleared his throat. "Teal was the only one who could have read the manuscript, in time," he added, his eyes never breaking contact with the other man's. "It was an opportunity to get in close; he would have been gone in the morning."

Jack said nothing, letting the silence work for him. The Welshman tried to reach him with his eyes; the Captain looked away in reflection. "Jack…"

"We would've found him." His reply was curt as he studied the watercolour hung on the wall.

Ianto shook his head, clinging to his belief. "No, not this time." He inadvertently raked a hand through his hair, stopping at the knotted scar. "He's a ghost Jack, he stayed visible just long enough for us to recognize his threat…"

Jack let a smile play at his lips. "Always the showman." It's was something they had in common.

"Yes." Ianto waited, Jack wasn't sure if the young man had read his mind.

He sighed and turned his attention to his shoes. "You put Tosh in danger." He glanced up; the Welshman met his gaze.

"Yes." He swallowed. "I had no choice."

Jack watched the flick of emotion play across the young man's features. "You should have run it by me Ianto."

"Would you've said yes?" It was an obvious question.

Ianto watched Jack draw breath. "I don't know," the Captain said honestly, sticking his hands in his pockets. "I think it was a gamble." Ianto raised an eyebrow, Jack smiled; how many times had they thrown the dice before?

"It paid off." The young man's voice held a trace of doubt; he clasped his hand together and lent forward.

The bed sank as Jack sat next to him. "You think the drug was enough?"

"He's blind and human, the two things he fears most." The Welshman did not hesitate in his reply.

"And very pissed," Jack added, slapping both hands onto his lap with a sigh. "He's dangerous Ianto and resilient."

"You think I don't know that Jack." The young man glanced up.

"And what if he wants revenge?" The room seemed to shrink around them.

Ianto turned back to his hands. "Then he will come to me not Torchwood," he predicted.

Jack watched him a moment. "You'll have to kill him." The words whispered the question, _can you?_

Ianto screwed his eye closed, inhaled and turned to Jack. "I know and then it will be a personal matter, not one that will interest the Underground."

The Captain's reflected stare turned back to the watercolour. "You called him out didn't you?"

"Yes." It was a quiet acknowledgment.

Jack shook his head and smiled. "I probably would have killed him, you know, planting a bomb in _my_ city."

Ianto quirked an eyebrow at the statement. "Then it was a good thing the decision was taken out of your hands or we might have our own war to worry about."

Jack smiled. "Remind me never to play you at chess, Jones, Ianto Jones." His tone was light but his eyes remained serious.

Ianto inwardly flinched at the memory of their first meeting. "How about poker?"

The Captain smirked. "As long as we play by the Jack Harkness rules."

Ianto tilted his head. "Which are?" Jack's grin stretched with a mischievous eyebrow as they both contemplated the gleam in each other's gaze, the gap between them disappearing.

Gwen burst into the room; Ianto jumped from the bed, much to Jack's amusement.

She looked between the two men, pausing awkwardly as her cheeks flushed. She glanced back at the open door, wondering, now, if she should have knocked. She took a large breath of air and smiled to hide her discomfort. "Our sensors at the graveyard have picked up movement and the rift detector has spiked."

"Looks like our guys are on the move," Jack said, standing up and reaching for the coat Ianto held, already anticipating his need; he smiled at the younger man.

"Images?" He asked, sliding his arms into the garment.

Gwen shook her head. "Quiet as…"

"The grave," Ianto finished, straightening his already perfect tie.

A/N: This was written a while before adrift...

Also, a big thank you to all of you for stopping by and giving this a go, hope you are enjoying the ride.


	17. All Is Calm All Is Bright

**Angelystor**

**All Is Calm All Is Bright  
**

They drew up at the church, the SUV skidding on the glossy surface of the road.

"What now?" Owen asked zipping his jacket all the way to the neck as the cold air battered his senses; he gave the car a longing glance.

Jack looked between the team members; he had nothing to go on. He rested his arms on top of the SUV. "Owen, Ianto you take the graveyard."

"Gwen, Tosh…"

Gwen's phone rang, Jack looked piqued. "If it's Rhys…"

The ex-constable held up a hand as she fumbled it from her jean pocket. She removed her headset so she could listen to the other party, turning her back on Jack's annoyance.

"Gwen…"

She snapped the phone shut and glared at Jack. "That was the local_ plod, _seems George Lewis's great-granddaughter is still in the village."

"Okay then," Jack added without an apology. "Address?" He rapped on the SUV's roof.

Gwen opened the passenger door, shouldering past Owen. "81, Laurel Avenue…"

"The new estate just on the edge of town." They all turned to Ianto.

"Do you know everything?" Owen asked with a scowl.

"I try and familiarise myself with the local area…"

"How long?" Jack was already pulling the seatbelt around him.

Ianto's eyes looked away in thought. "This time of night, about seven minutes." He exchanged a glance with the Captain; Jack smiled.

Owen slid into the back seat. Jack looked over his shoulder. "Not you Owen. I want you and Ianto to stay here." He turned the ignition.

The doctor's face looked pained. "Why do I get to stay with the zombie magnet, in the cold?" He switched on his torch, positioning the light under his chin as he spoke.

"Because Gwen gave you the church records and we need to start on repositioning those stones." Gwen looked smug in the passenger seat as she turned up the heating, giving Owen a small wave as they drove off.

The doctor looked at Ianto who was digging around in his coat pocket. "Hip flask?" He asked, hopefully.

"Nope, manuscript." The Welshman waved it at him.

"Fuck me", Owen muttered with a roll of his eyes.

"Not even if it was the end of the world." Ianto mumbled and moved off to the iron gate; it whined against its hinges as he opened it, the crisp air making him shudder despite his heavy coat.

Owen too gave an involuntary shiver but it wasn't from the cold; he felt like they were being watched. He scanned the conflicting rows of seasoned tombstones and weathered angels but could see nothing to rouse his senses, except the green glow of the yew.

Ianto stopped beside him. "Is it…" The young man paused, his breath pale against the darkness. "…Glowing?"

Owen nodded. "Yep." He swallowed, an ominous feeling tweaking spitefully at his nerves.

Ianto gripped the manuscript tighter and for a moment Owen thought he was going to hold it up in front of them as protection. He had seen it done, with bibles and crucifixes, in countless Hammer films; okay films he'd laughed at, at the time, through an alcoholic haze but as a student he never imagined he would actually be living some cliché horror film.

Again, he looked around him. Graveyard, check. Night time, check. No creepy music, that had to be good. Green, glowy, satanic tree, check. Okay, that had to be bad. Large breasted vixen (usually a vampire) with Eastern European accent, nope. Shame. Large breasted virgin, usually English, in flimsy, see-through negligee, in need of _rescuing_. He shot a sideways glance at Ianto. Nope. "And Captain Kronos has legged it with the girls," he mumbled under his breath.

"What?" Ianto looked at him, tucking the artefact back into his coat.

The doctor coughed. "The first is by the porch." He waved his torch in the general direction, the light illuminating the lichen covered face of a mournful angel; her hollow eyes seemed to stare back at him. Owen tried not to blink.

They followed the gravel path, each footfall taking them further from the gate. "Where?" Ianto shone his torch over the graves, the beam creeping from one forgotten and nameless marker to another, the rime glistening with the attentive light. "I can't make it out." Ianto turned to Owen.

"It's there somewhere," he offered helpfully, keeping his torch steady over the Victorian monuments, the air biting at his exposed fingers.

Ianto stepped off the path and began to walk methodically through the crisscross of tilted stones and time-worn crosses. Owen added his light to the search, his attention, every so often, glancing across to the yew; the feeling still there.

Ianto stopped by a shaded bench, his dark attire camouflaging him in the hang of bushes and deciduous trees. All Owen could see was the circle of light haunting the section where he stood. "Ianto?" He suddenly felt alone.

"Here, I found it." The doctor jogged to join him, the loose change in his pocket jingling against the silence.

Ianto tapped the top of the stone in triumph. "Now what?" Owen asked. "We'll need a bloody forklift to raise the thing."

"Let's just locate the rest of the stones tonight before we think about moving them." Ianto crouched down and dusted off the inscription. He shone the torch over the symbols. "They're still legible," he said in surprise.

The wind suddenly stirred, raking a few dry leaves over the flat surfaces of embedded tombstones; bringing the graveyard to life. Owen looked over his shoulder, the torch casting its light into the night. He thought he saw movement. He glanced back to Ianto; the young man was stood stock-still.

"Ianto?" He didn't register the doctor's concern; he just kept his focus on the shape of chiselled rock.

"Ianto!" This time the young man turned, delving into the depths of his coat pocket to retrieve the manuscript; a white light burned the night from the crystal fixed on the cover. He looked at Owen.

"Shit." The doctor exclaimed.

Ianto ran his fingertips over the burnished gem; again he looked at Owen and the doctor sensed what he was about to do. "Not a good idea, mate, remember, 'book bad'." The Welshman didn't seem to be listening.

Owen dropped his torch, the light spinning away from him as he made a grab for the manuscript but he was too late, the pages had already fluttered open on their own. A light blanched Ianto's face, throwing the gossamer shadows of the symbols across his forehead. Owen couldn't move, he was drawn to the flood of both light and script that cut the darkness like the glint of a fine sword. A face appeared in the shaft of light, as lucent as jellyfish it floated in the beam, drifting to surface of Ianto's skin until it masked his features. The old man stared through the Welshman's eyes, his profile transparent upon the young man's. Ianto's hand reached for the stone and he began to speak, his lips ghosting the alien's, the repeated words spoken in unison.

The phrase floated gracefully in ink around them, like dark and broken butterflies carried on a summer breeze of light. Owen didn't recognise their sound but he understood their meaning. Life… Death… Rebirth.

The ancient stone drew breath, inhaling the resonance of sounds conjured against an unearthly night, the cracks and scrapes of its torn façade fading as it absorbed each declaration. It glowed with life; from death's pale shadow it was reborn, remade as new, the deep groove of symbols bore witness to its transformation, shining like a polished shield.

The book closed and Ianto slumped onto the frozen earth. "Shit." Owen uttered again, bending down to help the confused man to his feet, one hand scrambling for the torch. "You okay?"

The Welshman blinked against the doctor's examining light, shrugging off the gentle probing. "Fine," he nodded, wiping the frost from the back of his coat.

Owen regarded him suspiciously, tapping his headset. "Jack?"

A rush of static flooded his ear.

"Maybe we're too close to…" Ianto gestured to the stone, swallowing against the dryness of his throat.

Owen grabbed the stunned Welshman by the shoulder of his coat and pulled him away from the newly formed monument toward the gate. Ianto stumbled at being seized, looking to where the manuscript had fallen. The doctor saw his dilemma. "Well I'm not picking it up," he remarked, still holding onto a handful of wool.

"We can't leave it here." Ianto freed himself from the doctor and grabbed it, placing the inert book back in his coat.

Owen watched him stand and then motioned for them to move to the gate. Ianto began to follow and then stopped; something was burrowing towards them, leaving a mound of earth in its wake. He could just about make it out under the gloat of the full moon, the snake of a tunnel cracking the earth at pace.

They both started to run toward the gate until it suddenly slammed shut, the noise echoing off the stonework of the church. "Fuck," Owen exclaimed as he skidded to a halt, sending a wave of gravel spilling forward.

Another furrow formed in front of them, this one much large than the other.

"The stone!" Ianto cried.

"What?" The doctor's focus was on the sizable gully gaining on them; the Welshman pulled him back.

"The stones were intended to stop the roots from breaking free…"

They both moved back, jumping over the splay of hard earth as the other root ripped free of the frozen subterranean depths. It clipped Owen, sending him sprawling on the gravel. He rolled away, the small stones making indentations on his bare skin. The root flicked its end up like the draw of a whip and then lashed down toward the fallen man.

Owen looked up, waiting for the collide of wood and bones, waiting for it to pummel his body, the sudden seconds stretching like the weight of the root above him; but nothing happened. Something soft fell on his face and into his mouth, wood, wood shavings; he spat it out, the air around him popping like the fifth of November as the alien countered the Aspen Ianto had thrown. Sparks cracked the darkness, the root hindered and seemingly dazed by the flare of wooden flakes. Ianto squeezed Owen's shoulder, reminding him they were still in danger, he jumped up, hearing the split of the solid ground as the other root sped at them. They backed away, the last of the Aspen blistering the night as the suspended root collapsed back onto the ground, its sinuous coil withered and charred in sooty patches.

"You got any more?" Owen asked eyeing the other root.

The Welshman swallowed. "Only two stakes, I gave Jack the pellets."

"Pellets?"

He tapped the weapon in his pocket. "The wrong size."

"We're so screwed."

They made it to the stone. "What now?" Owen asked, his breath hitching in ragged bursts.

Ianto shrugged; the doctor shook his head, drawing out his weapon.

"I don't think…" The Welshman began.

"I ain't going down without a fight." He gripped the gun with both hands.

Ianto nodded and pulled out his own firearm, handing Owen one of the Aspen stakes. The doctor took it, his aim never wavering from the push of the soil; Ianto straightened and stood beside him.

The root burst from the ground, spraying the men with clumps of hard earth; they turned away, shielding themselves from the fall of debris.

Its bulk hung in the air, swaying menacingly in front of them. A skull grinned from where it was entwined on the twist of a substantial secondary shoot, its empty eyes ever watchful. Owen fired several shots, making the root shy away but the bullets bounced off the unnatural glow shielding it thick skin.

A woman's laughter echoed from the shadows, mocking their predicament. The root drifted nearer, swaying like the measured tempo of a metronome against the night air; the movement causing the skull to swing like a felon on a gibbet.

"Give me the book!" The command came from the confines of the tree, the voice creaked with age.

"Why don't you come and get it, Teresa?" Owen taunted, his recently fired gun warming his raw hands.

Ianto turned his head slightly and cocked an eyebrow. "Teresa?"

"Green." Owen replied with a smirk.

"Do not challenge me human, you have no idea what I am capable of." This time the voice was low and dangerous.

"That's it Owen, piss off the already irate foliage." The root reared in front of them, ripping more of its mass free from the earth; Ianto dug in his heels.

"Is it my fault she can't take a joke?"

"After centuries of being trapped in a tree?" Ianto held the doctor's gaze.

"So, she's a bit wooden."

Ianto rolled his eyes. "You done, because I'm seriously considering just handing this over and leaving you with the root?" He tapped the inside pocket of his coat.

"The book, now!" Agroná cut through their banter.

Over by the yew a thin gash of light severed the darkness. The tear expanded outward, like someone had taken the edges and was ripping it open, forcing the night to shrivel as its brilliance soaked through the darkness. "Give it to me." There was a primeval hunger in her direction.

Owen spared a glance at the younger man. "You ready?" He asked softly.

Ianto's grip tightened around his gun. "Yup."

The doctor smiled and brought his aim closer. "As I said before, come and get it bitch," he yelled, bending his finger around the trigger.

Agroná's howl of rage turned into a hoarse screech of a crow, causing both men's hackles to rise. The root seemed to flex its vast weight before pitching towards them, the skull hanging onto its sizable coil with its teeth.

Both men fired, but as before, the bullets eluded their target. They both fell to the ground, in opposite directions, as the root began its forceful lunge, its strike whistling into the night. A blinding light spilled from the stone, blocking its intent and blazing through the wood. It tried to recoil but its weight quickly burned and turned to ash, holding its shape for just a second, before it scattered to the frozen earth; the cheery skull loosing its jaw as it broke on the hard soil.

Agroná screamed again, this time in pain, this time it sounded almost human. The rip of light imploded, the darkness racing to plug the gap until the slither of time was gone.

Once more it was cold and still in the graveyard.

Both men sat up, slightly bewildered, the smell of burning hanging in the air. Ianto wiped his mouth, smearing his face in ash. "Your people skills need work," he remarked.

Owen shrugged. "She ain't people," he offered, spitting the taste of burning from his mouth.

He rested his arms on his knees, looking at the rip in the knee of his jeans. "Bugger, I paid a hundred and fifty quid for these."

Ianto cocked an eyebrow. "Really?" He stood up trying to dust the ash from his coat but instead, rubbing it into the material.

Owen pushed himself to his feet, watching the flakes fall from his hair as he combed his fingers through its length. "No hard feelings mate but I'm asking Jack to pair me with someone else, next time."

"What, too much excitement for you, I thought you enjoyed this sort of…" He paused. "…Rush."

The gate swung open, both men jumped at the violent scrape of metal.

Owen looked at the Welshman. "Now that's tempting."

"You want to make a run for it?" Ianto checked the chamber of his weapon.

Owen picked up his discarded torch and swung the light over to the entrance, gun still in his hand. He bit his lip. "Yes, but let me go first, you should stay here with the manuscript until I say…"

"Who died and…." Ianto stopped as Owen skimmed the light over the gravestones, raising his eyebrows.

The younger man nodded. "Okay." The Welshman switched on his own torch and shone it over the churchyard.

Owen stepped onto the bench and followed the grainy beam of light as he scanned the pathway to the gate.

He looked over his shoulder. "Looks okay this end."

Ianto nodded, noticing the yew had lost its chartreuse tinge. "All clear this way." His light swung on the frozen ground, searching for movement under its frosty covering.

Owen leapt down and started pacing across to the gravel path, the circle of his light undulating like a pendulum against the darkness. Ianto could hear the kick of Owen's shoes against shale as the doctor's form retreated into the gloom. The Welshman kept his own vigil against the submerged threat, flooding as much of the ground with the disk of his own light while watching the other man's progress.

Owen stopped by the closed wooden door of the porch. He turned back to Ianto, measuring the distance he had achieved, wondering if he should call the younger man across to join him. He saw Ianto's light jerk suddenly away from his position and the beam narrow so it could reach further into the darkness, toward the gate. The scrape of iron slammed through every inch of his body.

"Owen!"

The doctor turned round and aimed his weapon. Four ragged figures stood at the gate.

--

A/N Sorry for the delay been on holibobs


	18. Round Yon Virgin Mother And Child

**ANGELYSTOR**

**'Round Yon Virgin Mother And Child**

They were too late; the scene in front of them like a granular tableau scraped on the canvass with a palette knife, full of heavy colour, yet expressionless and devoid of life.

The woman was dead, her body lay cooling against the laminate floor, dark hair spread in a mix of her own blood and dark, viscous mud. Her husband knelt beside her, his hand still clutching his game controller, while across the room the flat screen exploded with the violence of an animated war.

Both Jack and Gwen eased into the room, their attention, like that of the husband's, on the dated figure clutching the six month old child. A muddy sediment pooled at his feet, like a shadow cast by the wall lights, as he turned his bloated face to greet the newcomers, stretching his drab skin into a smile. Jack looked over his shoulder and gestured for Tosh to stay by the door; she gave a curt nod of compliance.

He crouched down next to the body, the soldier's creamy gaze watching his every movement. Jack touched the husband lightly on his back, drawing the man fleetingly from the cries of his son. "Where are the others?"

The stunned man frowned. "What… I..?"

Jack changed tact. "Were there any others?"

"I… Yes… They… Hannah she… The baby…" He went to stand but Jack held him back. "They left." He whispered finally, looking over the body of his wife.

Jack pulled the man to his feet. "Tosh, take him outside and see if you can reach Ianto and Owen." He stepped away as Tosh pried the controller from the other man's rigid grasp and guided him to the front door, letting the cold air in as she opened it.

Gwen shivered and moved forward as Jack stood by her. "It's Isaac isn't it?" She let her gun drop to her side, her eyes never leaving the baby.

The dead man turned to the sound of her voice, his dilated stare incapable of blinking. He dwelled on the pitch of his name as if he was not used to hearing it spoken. "Yes miss." Water and slime dripped from his bloated lips.

She held out her hand. "Why don't you give me the child?"

His eyes shifted to the struggling infant. "Can't do that, it has to die, see."

The grandfather clock, by the staircase, worked piecemeal on the seconds, its lavish pendulum swinging with a strident resolve. Gwen felt its pound echo through her skin. "Why?" She asked. "It's just a baby."

The soldier squashed his swollen lips in thought, a lone beetle escaping through the sponge of their flesh. "It's not right, its blood belongs to us; George broke the pact."

Isaac drew the child closer to his water filled lungs, causing the liquid to seep into the child's cotton baby grow. A yell from a computer generated GI caught everyone's attention; they turned to the flat screen and a 3D Normandy beach littered with bodies.

Isaac shook his head and turned away. "I don't understand what we fought for, I don't understand this world."

"That's because you don't belong in it," Jack spat out. "This is not your time; you died on the battlefield of Passchendaele."

Gwen shot Jack a quieting look but the young soldier just laughed; it was a miserable sound. "You think I don't know that." There was no anger in his voice; just sorrow. "I live that death for eternity, fighting against the cloy of mud as it slowly fills my lungs and buries me as if I never was. Covered and forgotten; a cold and silent death, alone in the night with only the demons of my thoughts for company."

He shook his head. "And as I wait for the inevitable, I pray to the stars above, I pray for a shell blast or a bullet, I pray for a quick death not the leisurely slip of the mud's embrace but no one answers my plea. I guess God's too busy weeping at the follies of men to hear one cry above all others." His huge fingers encompassed the child's head, touching the soft pulse of the infant's fontanel, a harsh reminder that he was of dead flesh.

He glanced at Gwen, mud spilling from his empty eyes. "I have no grave, see, no marker, nothing to say 'I was here'." He cradled the baby and looked down as it nestled into his hold. "No child of my own to carry my footprint into the future. I'd survived so much, is it wrong to want more, to want to live."

Gwen edged forward. "It is when it costs the lives of others," she whispered gently.

He bypassed the ex-constable, looking to Jack for clarification, questioning his motives as the baby stirred against him, finding no warmth. "She promised us life."

"She lied." Jack said bluntly. "Isaac Bevan died at Passchendaele."

"Then who am I?" He paused. "What am I?"

The child began to cry again, the game exploded with bursts of gun fire and the grandfather clock chimed the passing of another hour.

"Dead," Jack answered.

Isaac held the Captain's gaze a moment longer, his stare stripping him of any pretence. "Is this all there is?"

It was a weighty question, a spiritual one and Jack had no answer to give, no comfort to offer. He swallowed, the background noise retreating from the two men. "I don't know." He answered honestly.

The dead man bowed his head. "Then I am indeed a sinner for I'm in hell." He kissed the baby gently on the head, his lips anointing it with a daub of earth.

Gwen took another step forward, almost touching the child. Isaac looked up. "Here," he said, holding out the infant. "I wouldn't want to condemn another to the same fate."

The ex-constable went to gather up the child but the soldier hesitated, his body trembling. His gaze fell to the baby in his arms. "I'm sorry," he whispered in a broken voice, snatching it quickly away from the outstretched hands.

He cried in pain and Gwen felt the sting of a slap cut her face but no one had touched her. She stumbled back as Isaac lifted his head and glared at her, the preserved skin of his face moulding itself into that of an old woman, a green light spilling from the dead man's eyes. "No!" The refusal was distinctly feminine and split by age. "This blood is mine!" Spit spewed from the soldier's open mouth, giving the words substance.

The child was dragged further into a watery embrace, sludge baptising the soft down of its head causing it to cough and gasp under the flood of viscous liquid. Jack pushed Gwen aside and aimed high, firing a shot through the top of the soldier's head. Sediment bled from the wound and a handful of red slugs writhed in the seep of its movement. Isaac looked to the Captain, the grimace of a smile pushing at the haggard grooves in his cheeks. "Have you learned nothing?" The voice drooled. "Your bullets are useless."

Jack grinned. "Who said anything about bullets?"

Cracks fractured from the impact, crazing through the soldier's skin like a drought on a dried up river bed. There was an ear-piercing cry from deep within Isaac's body, making the light bulbs burst from their housings, only the spark of the television saved them from darkness. The sage glow faded and with it Agroná's imprint on the swell of the soldier's skin. He looked to the smoking gun and then to Jack, his face fracturing with the break of the alien's hold and just for a slice of a second, becoming human once more. He closed his eyes and whispered, through lips that bore no age or injury, a prayer of thanks. Then his face fell apart, flesh slipping from bone that crumbled before even reaching the polish of the floor. Gwen rushed forward and caught the child as the dead man's body turned to dust before them.

The second hand clawed at the clock face, trying to steal more time from the room but it was unable to shift its fine tip from where it was stuck between the stretch of a breath and its exhale. Time was twisting in a circle, lodged in a moment, surrendering its influence to a more ancient power.

The child began to wail as if sensing the malevolence circling the house.

Hailstones hit the window as the teeth of a storm snapped at the glass with acute anger. Tosh came running in, the husband close on her heels, both looked battered and wind swept as they fought to close the door.

The whole house was immersed in darkness as the flat screen erupted into several pieces, causing Gwen to cover the baby with her body as they shattered across the room.

It turned cold, the dust on the floor moving in a swirl of a promise. "You have taken one of mine; I shall take what is yours."


	19. Holy Infant So Tender And Mild

Angelystor

**Holy Infant So Tender And Mild**

The graveyard shook causing both Owen and Ianto to fall unceremoniously to the ground. The earth seemed to liquefy around them, turning itself over in a series of frenzied waves that poured from the heart of the yew. Clouds swept across the capacious stare of the moon, darkening the night still further until the only light that steeped the shadows was the seething glow of the tree.

Hailstones lashed the ground as the churchyard became caught in the wrath of a turbulent squall that shook the sky with ferocity and violence. Something inhuman screamed, carried on the burst of the storm, making both men cover their ears as its sound rushed over them. The four figures, at the gate, were torn from the ink of the night, their imprint shrivelling into a smoky pall as they were consumed by the glow of yew in varying cries of pain.

Then everything went still.

Owen sat up, the melt of ice trickling down his back and smearing his face in streaks of ash. He dusted his hands together to dislodge the sting of small stones that scuffed his palms. He looked across to a dishevelled Ianto who was standing against the stone. "Owen?"

The doctor gestured he was unhurt with a wave of his hand. "Stay there," he implored, getting shakily to his feet.

The earth began to move again as the divergence of the yew's capillary roots flayed the frozen soil, freeing themselves from its confines in a rip of sod and grave goods. Bones, wood and cloth splintered into the air as they breached the topsoil, exhuming several bodies that lay in their path. Gravestones fell into the earth, angels crumbled into weeping fragments, family monuments were uprooted in the release of anger and sinuous twists of fury that echoed in a throaty and wounded howl.

Owen turned to the church, rattling the porch as he tried to open it, his eyes never leaving the serpentine arch of a predatory root. He fired several shots into the door, splintering the studded wood around the cast-iron lock but the bolt remained steadfast. He heard Ianto cry his name as he was struck, hard, across the back, his face colliding with the heavy oak as he fell against the door and crumpled to the path. Dazed, he was aware of being dragged back over the gravel, his firearm out of reach as he scraped against the roll of the stones. He tried to dig his fingers into the solid ground, to stop from being hauled across the churchyard but the pull on his body was far too strong and all he could do was watch the thawed track he was leaving against the grass.

A light splayed across the darkness from behind him as Agroná, once more, opened a bridge between past and present, letting its beam rip through the graveyard. Owen felt the pull of its vortex, even from where he was, as a small burst of static licked the air and nipped at the night.

There was another scream and something flared against the ebony gloom, causing him to cough to avoid an unexpected spout of smoke. The pull around his lower leg went limp and he felt the touch of leather grab his wrist and yank him to his feet. Confused, Owen pushed away from the steadying hand on his shoulder, trying to blink through the blood oozing from the gash on his forehead. He was furnished with handkerchief which he pressed against the wound. "For fuck sake Ianto, I told you to stay put." Owen looked at the dusty coil of ash on the ground.

"And let you have all the fun." Ianto guided the doctor back towards the stone.

"You call this fun; you really should get out more…" He surveyed the graveyard. "What's it doing?"

"I think it's licking its wounds."

"Or rallying it forc…"

The rip in time exploded towards the two men, engulfing them in a blaze of light and twisting shadows. The graveyard shattered from their perception, falling like glass from a broken window only to be crushed by the eddy of the vortex. Ianto was vaguely aware of the screech of tires as his body was wrenched and stretched between the two points in time but it was obscured by the sound of rifle and machinegun fire that pounded with the sound of his own heartbeat.

He screamed as air was compressed from his lungs, the sound tore flesh from his throat.

Someone called his name but it was lost as he was smothered with shades of grey and abstract images that cried in blood.

Again his name bounced toward him in many varying echoes. "Tosh?" His voice was dense and it too fractured in shifting tones. He covered his ears.

He gasped, the crush of time pulling at the sinews of his body and mind. "Tosh the manuscript." It hurt to speak, like each syllable bit into his tongue. "Remember, life, death, rebirth, the stones, it imbues the stones…."

Ianto began to fall into the slant of light. He thought he saw Owen balloon past him in the expanse but the flashes of clipped moments shredded his mind with their unrelenting flick of past images. Decades of blood and terror pulsed through him and under his skin, their fear and anguish becoming his own in their constant push through his mind.

He screamed but it went unheard in the desperate cries of the past above so many tools of misfortune. Then there was blackness and when he awoke there would be even more pain.

--

Tosh physically held Jack back as the two men were sucked into the current of time. They heard Ianto's broken voice cry out from the net of light. "Manuscript… Life… Death… Rebirth…. Stones…. Imbues…."

Jack looked over his shoulder at the smaller woman anchoring him to the present. "He brought it with him?"

She nodded silently. "Then it's in there." He looked back to the vortex.

"No." The Asian woman shook her head.

"Tosh?"

Her eyes held his in a moment of clarity. "He left it. I-I can feel it Jack, I don't know how but it's still here." She turned to the graveyard, something prickling her senses, calling silently against the darkness.

Jack spared her a fleeting glance and Tosh felt its weight. "They'll never survive," he whispered, as the light began to fold in on itself.

"It could be a trap," Tosh reasoned, feeling his body posture pull away.

"Yes," Jack reflected.

Tosh let go of his shoulder and stepped back. "You do what you have to," she stated. "Gwen and I will take care of things this end."

Jack turned and brushed her chin with his thumb. "If you get a chance to stop this thing then do it," he stressed.

Tosh closed her eyes and nodded, his touch gone from her face as he stepped closer to the shred of light. "Bring them back," she added.

Jack turned and smiled an acknowledgement before he plunged back into time, the glow surrounding him like a heavenly apparition before it swamped his figure and then its cut was gone, vanishing into the solid block of the night.

Tosh stood alone in the darkness, trying to blink away the speckled fragments of light stabbing at her vision.


	20. Sleep In Heavenly Peace

**ANGELYSTOR**

**Sleep In Heavenly Peace**

Owen awoke to the sound of sporadic gunfire and the pelt of rain on the side of his face. He coughed to prevent swallowing a mouthful of mud as he gingerly picked himself up, slipping against the water-logged ground. He mentally checked the acute pinch of aches on his body, noting there was nothing worthy of medical attention just yet.

He stayed low, sitting back on his heels to wipe the grime and blood from his face and sleeving the moisture dripping from his nose. His mind hurt, it was numb and incoherent, he felt disjointed and out of place, like he was a ghost in his own body. He kneaded his temple with his wet fingertips trying to alleviate the slur of his thoughts. "Okay Owen, where the fuck are you?" He breathed out, looking through the gauze of rainfall.

There was no sunlight in the sky, just the droop of leaden cloud that covered all in its sheer mantle, making spectres of the desolate landscape. Before him stretched the remnants of war, a mass grave of unburied dead all in different stages of decomposition. Bodies lying in random patterns made by the spill of bullets and the reach of detonations, some whole, others shapeless pieces of flesh, amorphous forms, defaced and pounded to desecration. Skeletons of men, stone against the weary earth, looking up for absolution while lying forgotten on the edge of the world, under a weak sky that had lost all warmth.

He swallowed, nothing lived here, everything was dead, everything was barren and wasted, the earth raped and left to drown in its misery.

He was in hell; one fashioned and carved by mankind. He shook his head, sniffing against the spit of the weather. "As if this day can't get any worse."

A shell exploded to his left covering him in sodden debris, bruising where it touched. He looked up to the heavens. "I was joking you miserable fuck!"

Owen covered his head, instinct making him grab for a fallen rifle. He looked down at the shadow of its former owner, a man more bone than flesh. "Sorry mate, my need's greater." He stood and stooped away from the circle of the explosion as a few listless rifle shots cracked around him.

Owen dodged the broken earth, gullies and ruts filled with oily water, the mud sucking against his purchase, trying to draw him to its core. He was glad for the rainfall, its biting drive shielding his movement against the smack of indolent bullets.

Another explosion shook the ground causing him to freefall forward into crater. His landing winded him but there is no ominous splash or pull of mud against his body, just his mind reaching for the sanctity of unconsciousness. He wrestled with the darkness, bringing himself from the brink of oblivion, not wanting to sleep when so many were at rest forever.

He breathed in, wishing on all that he held sacred that he hadn't. Something clambered over him, feet with claws, stopping on his heaving chest to see what had disturbed its refuge. A rat. They eyed each other, the creature's eyes pinpricking the gloom, its nose tasting the air, dwelling on the seep of Owen's blood; fresh blood that sweetened its senses. The doctor tried to knock it away with a sweep of his hand but the animal just rolled with the blow, still holding Owen's stare with impertinence.

"Get the fuck off me, Ben." This time Owen struck the creature with malice and it scurried off out of sight.

The doctor blinked, letting his eyes adjust to shadows of the hole, his mind finally recognising the roam of decay that permeated the air and the press of dead bodies left to perish in the crater. He swallowed and carefully shifted his weight against the tangled assortment of corpses, trying hard not to sink into their depth and become buried among them. They turned with his movement, stirring from their rest, their bony hands reaching, their hardened forms falling against him, dislodging tattered limbs and maggots from their feast. He tired not to breathe, hearing the sickening squash of bloated flesh as his boots shoved against the mound, pushing him through their ranks towards the side of the pit. He moved a little quicker, kicking out at the sea of dead like a drowning man, panic overriding his senses. Even when his back hit the wall of mud, he still lashed out with his legs, smashing at turned heads that watched his efforts with their hollow eyes.

His breathing hitched. "Get a grip Owen." He laughed, the sound lost in the mash of the dead.

He twisted himself round and tired to maintain some balance against the instability of the corpses. Owen stretched, grabbing onto the slick loam of the side, his fingertips skimming the surface, unable to gain any leverage to crawl out. "Shit, shit, shit."

He shook his head and tired again, his endeavour slipping against the mud. "No!" He hit the mud in frustration.

A crow fluttered down, it wingspan creaking as it folded. It looked at Owen, inclining its head, its greedy stare glistening with amusement. The doctor threw some caked mud toward it, the bird screeched but remained attentive.

Owen whacked his palms on the damp barrier of earth, resting his forehead between them. He was trembling, the smell of corpses making him nauseous. Rivulets of water ran between the span of his fingers, pinching at the coil of his nerves. He dug his nails into the malleable surface, raking them down the soil, squeezing it in his anxiety. He looked again at the remote rim and the crow standing sentry over it.

"You are going to die here with these lifeless companions, slowly and alone, praying for rescue. It won't come; there is no one to hear your cries." Agroná's voice whispered through the lips of those buried but the doctor's focus remained on the winged scavenger in the daylight, above him.

"Ianto." He whispered, the flood of memory returning. "What about Ianto?"

"Ah, what about Ianto." She laughed, it was mean and cruel.

"You know, you sound just like my mother." Owen's fingers pulled a weighty stone from the mud and hurled it at the bird, causing it to move in a flutter of black feathers. He was angry now, all the despair was gone and anger was a feeling he could use.

He took a deep breath and with his bare hands began to claw at the mud, scraping it with his nails until he had dug out a foothold in the side of the crater. He hoisted himself up, his fingertips exploring the loam until he found a small outcrop of stone above his head. He extended his reach, grazing the pads of his fingers as they took his weight and he was able to propel his body further, his free foot trying to find purchase in the greasy soil. Sweat mixed with rainwater trickled down his face and into his eyes; Owen shook his head in an attempt to clear his vision. He gritted his teeth and pushed the tip of his boot into the slippery earth, gouging out another footing with his toe until he could place his bulk on it. He stretched upward, again searching the sides by touch until he found something he could wrap his grip around; an exposed root. He pulled it, checking his weight against it, hoping it would hold; it did. As he lifted his foot, his knee brushed against something sharp. Owen hissed in pain and looked down at the large piece of shrapnel jutting out of the earth. He placed his foot on its overhang and pushed himself toward the edge, scrambling to find some grip on the mound of slick earth before he slid back down into the pit. With great determination and a guttural yell he heaved himself over the rim, using his elbows as leverage against his weight and the last vestiges of his strength to crawl away.

Owen closed his eyes and rolled over onto his back, feeling his body burn with exhaustion. He tried to fill his lungs but his chest moved against the influx of air, expelling it in short gulps. He looked up at the dull sky, letting the rain wash over him and rinse the blood and dirt from hands and nails. He swallowed, collecting himself against the soft embrace of the mud until his inner demons were under control. He got painfully to his knees, looking around at the ocean of broken mud and bodies. He skimmed a hand over his face, squeezing his nose with a loud sniff; Ianto was somewhere out there.

Owen began to search through his pockets, pulling out his PDA. He held it for a moment in his swollen grasp, his hand trembling against the reminder from home. He pressed the power switch and light expanded across the screen. He began to trawl through the menus, leaving bloody fingerprints on the liquid display. No satellites but Tosh had calibrated a direction finder to pick up short range rift emissions much like a Geiger counter. He aimed it toward himself, to test its effectiveness, and the machine gave a resounding blip.

"You beauty," he declared, giving it a quick kiss.

Owen pointed the device away from him and began to scan the area, moving it back and forth in a methodical circle while watching the screen. A small blip heralded hope.


	21. Sleep In Heavenly Peace 2

Angelystor

Angelystor

Sleep In Heavenly Peace

Ianto opened his eyes, waiting for his consciousness to catch up. He was dazed and nauseous, but the numbness the state offered was quickly evaporating. He was held fast, suspended above the ground, pain stabbing at his body from every angle. He wrenched against the restraints, barbs tore at his coat, exposing the deep berry lining and puncturing through to the skin. His momentum made him swing in the lattice of cutting wire, pushing the vicious metal strands further into his flesh, their raw and rusty bite drawing blood. He watched the fall of its scarlet beads drip from one of his wrists to the mud below, his blunt mind trying to determine his situation.

It took a moment.

Barbed wire.

He panicked, trying to free himself from the deep, wounding, mass of coils. His struggle roused those bodies left to rot in the web of steel, making them dance amid the twisted fence like puppets on the devil's rope. A machine gun sprayed the area, Ianto heard the bullets strike his dead companions with a sickening thud and whistle mercifully past his prone body.

He stopped his efforts and tried to remain calm, listening to the steady beat of the rain as it splintered the stagnant pools around the entanglement. His breathing slowed but each steadying inhalation pressed hard against the jagged points.

Ianto closed his eyes and slowly twisted his head, the material of his scarf catching and shredding with the movement, nicking through the flesh of his neck. Blood bubbled from the wound, staining his skin in diluted streaks as the weather saturated this enclave of death.

His attention was drawn to a looped, steel, post just out of his reach. It slanted toward him, loosening the wire he was trapped on but not enough for him to touch the ground. He bit his lip and tugged at the nearest arm in a bid to free it from the twisted spines. The wire resisted, snaring the heavy wool of his coat in an attempt to limit his progress. He yanked harder, ripping through the sleeve until it was free of the hampering barbs. His bulk shifted in the impeding maze of wire, the razor-sharp tips sinking into his skin as they sprung against his weight. He stifled a cry, watching as the other bodies rocked with his momentum, telegraphing his movement to those manning the guns. Shots were fired and Ianto's impetus stilled as the steel loops, caught and settled against his body. He closed his eyes as bullets flew arbitrarily in his direction, steeling himself for the enviable, waiting for the burn of impact but it never came. Instead the ground gave quarter as a lone shell exploded, silencing the dwindling gunshots in its fierce flare. The entanglement drifted with the surge from the blast, knocking the loose picket from the drowned earth. Ianto sank, painfully, through rolls of coils as they collapsed onto the ground.

A hand clamped down on his shoulder, stopping the encompassing darkness from claiming him. "Now that had to hurt."

Ianto tried to lift his head. "Owen?"

"Yep, thought you'd got rid of me eh? Now keep still, so I can save your sorry arse once again."

Ianto rested his head back on his hands, his heart stretching against the throb of pain. "You've been looking at my arse?"

"Only in a professional context, don't get your hopes up." The humour was light and needed.

Owen carefully examined the crumpled wire that swathed the younger man, noting where it was embedded and deliberating a plan of action. He sighed. "Well, I'm afraid the coat's a goner."

"Tell me something I don't know." The reply was mumbled against the mud and the doctor detected the raw edge in Ianto's voice.

"Well, least it makes me feel better about my jeans, so my day's already looking up." He flexed the tight skin of his grazed hand and checked the younger man's pulse.

Ianto turned his head slightly; glimpsing Owen's torn and injured fingers. "What happened to your hand?"

"Will you lie still!" Owen ignored the question. "Trying to work here." He shifted some of the coils away from the Welshman, gripping warily between the close-knit barbs.

"Okay, tea-boy, I'm gonna pull some of this wire free, let me know if it hurts."

"Is that a trick question?"

"No, medical one. Ready?"

Owen drew his hands into the sleeves of his leather jacket, gripping the cuffs. He grabbed the wire and began to painstakingly extract it from the younger man's back, splitting through the fabric of the coat and shirt in the process. Ianto hissed as a few of the barbs scratched at his skin. Owen stopped. "You okay?"

"Oh, just dandy." Ianto's accent was heavier.

"Dandy?" Owen mocked. "You _really _**do**need to get out more." He pulled on another length of wire.

Ianto braced himself. "Is ridiculing your patients' part of your bedside manner or is that just reserved for co-workers?"

Owen gave a hefty sigh. "Only those twats who can't follow a simple instruction like, 'stay where you are.' Christ Ianto, why the hell didn't you _stay_ by the stone?" He yanked a loose strand free of the Welshman's shoulder.

"If that's your way of saying, 'thank you for saving me Ianto from that big, scary root which was about to squash my skinny arse into the ground', then you're most welcome Owen."

The doctor stopped a light smile flitting across his lips. "So, you've been looking at my arse, should I be worried?"

Ianto snorted. "Don't flatter your…."

Shots fired across the expanse, a little way off their position but close enough for them both to react. Ianto buried himself within the mud and wire, while the doctor tried to shield the Welshman with his own body.

They could hear the sounds of a skirmish, a token scuffle in the fading light, peppered by gunfire and the human cost of warfare. The shots grew closer, discharging blindly across the spread of no man's land, testing the area for further troop advances. The wire spun as it was hit, reverberating like the stretched string on a plucked guitar and making the dead twitch in tune. More shell fire dampened the area, lighting the sky and churning the earth with little regard to friend or foe. It seemed like a lifetime, enclosed in a flash of life or death, a shouted command, a flex of a finger, a belch of a gun, a minute, maybe two, even five and then?

And then everything went quite.

Nothing moved.

The cloud thickened, the scarred day turned even darker; death's shadow grew even longer waiting impatiently for the night.

Owen lifted himself from the younger man with a groan as the wire caught his jacket. "Fuck!" It was a frustrated cry, one laced with a sob of futility.

Ianto lifted his head, swallowing against the mud. He chose his words carefully. "Owen, it's senseless us both being stuck out here…"

The doctor reached through the waves of metal, grabbing on to the Welshman's shoulder. "Don't say it, tea-boy, don't even mention it. I'm not leaving you. I've seen too much death today, too many bodies, I'm a fucking doctor, I'm going to save at least one person today!" He tried to dislodge another rooted piece of the tangled steel.

"Owen…"

The doctor yanked at the wire, tearing through the cuffs of his coat, making his hands bleed. "Owen, stop, it needs wire cutters, it's the only way."

The doctor looked down at his hands, dropping the twisted steel. He raked a trembling hand through his hair and sat down. He looked up at the smothered sky. "I'm not leaving you," he repeated.

"Owen, it'll be night time soon and the darkness will bring further bombardment and troop movement. No man's land will become a hail of bullets and shells, you can't stay here." Ianto's head turned slightly to the other man.

Owen looked at him for a moment then diverted his gaze along the mass of knotted metal. He silently got to his feet, stooping low to avoid detection. "Don't go anywhere," he whispered.

"Owen?" Ianto tried to follow the doctor, straining his eyes against the fading light but Owen quickly vanished into the many shadows as if he had never been.

The Welshman let his thoughts wander, his body relaxing against the nip of barbs, the blanket of exhaustion easing him into a restless slumber; he ambled through an uneasy dream.

The landscape was made from the dead, their bodies twisted into the bare bones of trees or piled into grassy mounds, stretching to a streaked and blood red horizon. They thrashed against the confines of their structure, writhing in silent agony and the crush of the crowded space. His mind could have painted it from Dante, drawing on the battlefield to fuel his subconscious, for each circle seemed to be represented in the Great War.

A man sat on a rock made of skulls, looking across the expanse. He did not move as Ianto approached, the Welshman's shoes biting into the layers of bone as they splintered under his heels. "I did what I thought was right," the seated man whispered more to the howling wind that swept the edifice of corpses.

Ianto stilled, looking to the jaded uniform that bore the insignia of an officer. "Thomas Rees." The statement held no weight in his nightmare.

The officer's head twitched an acknowledgement. "I failed you see, I fail in so many aspects of my life, that I grabbed at straws to succeed, just once. I thought I was doing the right thing."

Ianto took another step forward; the man looked down at a photograph held between his thumb and forefinger. He rubbed the image. "I wanted a second chance, I wanted to make amends but instead I condemned us all to a thousand deaths and more. I didn't realize what the payment involved." He looked over his shoulder at Ianto, his peaked cap hiding his face.

"War is a mother of little love, pain and death the bastard of her womb." He looked back at the hideous landscape. "What price revenge? An eternity of suffering until the soil bleeds with those sacrificed."

He laughed, it was an empty sound. "All it takes…" He corrected himself. "All it took was a man who did nothing, a weak man who betrayed his feelings because he was spineless and made to feel ashamed. This is my legacy. My life was worthless and so is my death."

"Then make amends, stop the killing." Ianto's words danced in the space between the two men.

Thomas Rees turned his face to the young man, only the hard bone remained. "I can't."

Ianto shook his head, holding out his hands. "Then why are we here?"

"I need…" He paused. "…Someone to understand."

A cloud formed, blotting the ruby stain out of the sun. It rushed toward the two men, its mass veiling the light as it simmered with a thunderous tempest. Lightening cut the heavens, erupting like the burst of a shell, its flash bleaching the bones of the tormented. Ianto shielded his eyes and turned his face away. Out of the storm's pitch a bird glided on the thermals, stretching its wingspan like death's hand. Its beak fell open and it screeched with rage. Thomas Rees dropped his head, looking to the photograph one more time before he ruptured into nothing but an eddy of black smoke.

"Ianto?" The Welshman pulled away from the Owen's hand, startling awake.

He grabbed at the mud to collect himself from the sting of barbs. "Bad dream?" The doctor asked.

Ianto gave a small nod. "And it ain't over yet," Owen continued, grabbing a stretch of wire.

"You know you really should work on that bedside manner." Ianto turned his head.

Owen gave a small smile and proceeded to cut through the metal. "Wire cutters?" The Welshman pulled his neck away from the grip of the spines.

"Will you keep still!" Owen clipped the wire, making the loose end spin in a concertina of steel. Both men stilled as the rattle of the coils curled back in a perpetual loop, the noise igniting the silence.

Nothing.

The doctor worked on disengaging another length of metal. Ianto watched his meticulous labour before asking, "where..?" He broke off his question as Owen looked along the manmade entanglement at the fruit of bodies that lay in its engaging depth.

The doctor paused, swallowing against the dryness of his throat. "Suicidal," he whispered, shaking his head, quickly severing more of the attached wire.

"Welcome to the Seventh circle of hell," Ianto replied as Owen tugged his arm free.

The doctor touched Ianto's forehead. "You're not going all feverish on me now, are you tea-boy?"

The Welshman shook his head. "Good, now pick yourself off the ground so I can get underneath you."

Ianto cocked a practiced eyebrow only for the Doctor to cuff him lightly on the top of his head. Owen guided the younger man to his knees, careful that he didn't clip anymore of the barbs. Ianto watched the doctor's bruised and swollen fingers try and grasp the twisted strands. He touched them lightly. "Here, let me help, you concentrate on the cutting."

Owen uncurled his hand, letting the Welshman take the steel. "You ready?" Ianto nodded.

It took another five minutes for them to work through the rest of the coils. They worked slowly and in silence for fear of the guns. Ianto transferred his weight, edging himself out of the bite of the imposing obstacle. Owen sighed. "Okay last one, we'll pull the smaller pieces free of your clothes when get somewhere a little safer."

The metal snapped free, scraping across Owen's arm as it flicked back into the wind of its curl. He yelped as it sliced through his jacket and scraped at the skin. Shots peppered the area.

"Fuck." Owen yanked Ianto up. "Keep your head down I haven't just free you so you can get it blown off."

Both men crouched low, away from the range of bullets and wire. "Which way?" Ianto rasped as Owen dragged at the tattered remains of his coat.

Owen glanced round. "This way." He hauled the other man with him.

Ianto dug his heels in. "Based on?"

Owen gave an exasperated sigh, tugging him like a stubborn mule. "Doctor's intuition." They stumbled across the mud.

"Says the man who gets lost around Tescos."


	22. Silent Night Jack

Angelystor

A/N: I know it's been a while, my apologies but it's been a tough two months. Hope you're still out there.

--

**Silent Night, Holy Night – Jack (22)**

Jack spat against the mud, holding his dizzy head. "You'd think I'd be used to it by now." He hauled himself to his feet, wincing at the slant of the world.

He shook his head and rubbed a hand across his eyes as the landscape slowly began to take shape from the buzz of distortion that had followed him through the rift. He stilled, his senses invoking a nightmare of memories in a wrench of terrifying clarity. "Hell," he whispered into the slope of the rain.

"Not quite Captain but close," a smooth voice whispered from the misshapen landscape.

Jack wiped the mud from his palms. "You know, I'm all up for a game of hide and seek but even I draw the line at playing it in a war zone." He looked around the devastation.

A pillar of black smoke eased itself up from the sod. It spread its inky shadow to stain the haze of the daylight, its obscure outline gathering itself into human form.

Jack could feel the loop of time slow as its snapshot became dormant and almost restful. A woman walked through the saturated light toward him, the deepening strands of her silver hair unfurling from the curl of the shadows. "Death has left its mark upon you." Her voice sounded like the slip of water over stones. "I would take your life but it would offer me nothing, your blood is not what I desire."

The violet of her stare regarded him with interest, their fierce colour intensifying against the grey backdrop. "Perhaps we could think of another way you could please me." A pale hand reached up and caressed his face, its touch was stale and like its owner, alien against his skin.

"My mother warned me about loose women. Advice I never took I might add." He seized her wrist but it vanished from his grasp, leaving his fingers clutching thin air.

She smiled, her pale lips taut across her glacial complexion, their pull devoid of any feeling. He watched her fingers dance over his grey coat, exploring the folds of the material until the came to rest over his heart. "Would you give it to me?" She pressed her ear to his chest.

Jack shivered against her closeness. "It's all according what you mean by _give_. Would it remain in my chest?"

She moved her head away. "If you please me it might." Her foul breath chilled his neck as it bit into his skin.

"And if I kill you?" He looked into her lavender gaze, its colour turning hard against light.

She traced her lips with the tip of her black tongue. "With kisses?" The sentiment was crude and ragged.

"No, I was thinking of something more painful and permanent." He pulled back his coat exposing the Webley mark VI.

"You think you can defeat me?" Her laughter crippled the air.

Jack stood his ground. "Yeah."

She moved away, turning her back on his stance. "You would make a perfect mate."

"Contrary to popular belief, I'm a little choosy." Agroná regarded him over her shoulder, her intrusive stare grating through to the bone.

She turned away, inhaling the stain in the air. "Can you feel it Captain, the theatre of war, the glorious celebration of cruelty and inhumanity?"

She waited for him to answer; Jack remained silent. "No? And yet you face it every day, beyond this place, out there." She licked her sombre lips. "You share in the thrill of bloodshed and carnage."

Jack struggled as she clawed through his mind, raping the memories he had long buried. He moved away, looking into the opaque fog, fighting the invasive grind of her probing. "There is no celebration in death."

Agroná moved behind him, stroking the back of his neck with her fruitless touch. "Are you so sure, Captain?" Her lips scratched at his skin. "Because I can feel a time when you revelled in the kill, craved it even." Her fingertips moved to his temples. "I can feel your scars."

Jack saw flashes of his past as Agroná raised those ghosts that tormented his naked soul. She traced the tip of his ear with her tongue. "Remember, Captain, the torture of both body and soul, the crush of resistance and the power it lent?"

Jack turned to face her, his eyes steely against the raze of her words. "That was a different person."

"Oh, how self-righteous of you and yet the path you've chosen is no different than before; you still hold the decision of life and death in your new role as _saviour_. You cannot change what you are, Captain, you can never erase the past but together _we_ can build on it." The purr of her breath festered against his neck.

Jack stepped away, studying the patterns in the mist. Agroná watched him, an empty smile splitting her face. "Join with me and we could be gods amongst these weak fools." Her offer wafted in the swirl of the haze.

He turned to her again, his grasp curling around the hilt of his gun. "As I said before, I'm little choosy and to be honest, I've had better offers." He drew the weapon.

Agroná flew at him before he had a chance to fire, her swift movement knocking him to the ground. Her face changed in the strained light, it aged, the features an insane knot of muscles. "You refuse me!"

Jack looked into her psychotic stare. "I guess so."

A knarred hand went around his throat. "You insult yourself with this integrity; you think it will wash away the sins of your past." Her fingertips marked his skin. "I can taste them on you, each death by your hand."

The hag's tongue slithered between her broken teeth, drooling with pleasure. She bent close and licked his cheek, her cold breath smelling of decay. "Can you taste your own?" Jack asked as he struggled for air against her tightening grip.

"You still think you can defeat me?" Her words were mixed with spittle that sprayed him lightly in the face.

Jack's stare was one of conviction. "Yeah."

Agroná considered his answer, a reptilian smile creeping across her face. She matched his gaze, a primeval glint glazing the colour of her eyes. Her mouth fell open, lengthening against her wizened features, her jaw jarring as it locked. She sat back on his chest, her hold still firm._ "Shit, shit, shit." _Owen's frustrated cry drifted from the enlarged orifice with a slight echo.

Jack bucked against her, his hand tearing at her leathery grasp. Agroná inclined her head, her mouth still agape like a ventriloquist's dummy. _"Owen, it's senseless us both being stuck out here…" _ Ianto's wounded voice coasted flawlessly from between her rotten lips before they snapped shut.

"Such frail minds, laced with delicate thoughts, yet they fight against the inevitability of death, I find it enthralling." Her tongue flickered with desire.

"Where are they?" Jack demanded in his struggle for air.

Agroná's thumb pressed down on his Adam's apple as it bobbed with the question. "Dying, they just don't know it yet." Her black mouth pressed against his; her kiss tasting of earth and blood. "The young offer so much more in death, they've so much more to loose."

Jack choked on the expanse of her ravenous mouth. "They don't belong here!"

"None of them do, Captain, and yet, here they are, sent into certain death." She released her grip and let her fingers trail over his shirt until they rested over his heart.

"Ah, so it's not so impregnable after all." Her aged hands tore at the material, ripping through it with ease. Jack kicked against her weight but she pinned him to the mud with a strength that was beyond her spindly body.

Her jagged nails pressed at his chest, their crooked reach turning avian, clawing through the layers of flesh. "Seeing as you will not give it to me, I'll have to take it from you." Her laughter turned into the gurgled screech of a crow.

Jack screamed as it ripped open his torso


	23. Shepherds Quake At The Sight

**Shepherds Quake At The Sight**

Gwen watched as Tosh's fingertips weaved over the eroded surface of the stone. Her pale lips muttered something incoherent, her dark hair swinging against her face, reminding the Welshwoman of funeral curtains on a horse drawn hearse. Gwen shuddered, the beam of her torch wavering with the movement as it cast its glow over the sunken rock. The moon had long since given way to the thickening clouds, which now danced with the laden swirl of snowflakes, silencing the gravestones with the muffle of their veil.

Tosh spread her own light on the stone, crouching down to scour it with numb fingers, flecks of silver anointing her dark crown before they melted against her hair. "I think this is the one." Her voice trembled with the cold, chafing against the night air in a plume of rasping breath.

"Tosh…"

She pulled the manuscript from where it was tucked under her arm, the pages bleaching the darkness as they fell open under the light from Gwen's torch. "Yes, I think this is it," Tosh stated, her eyes sparkling in the tapered glow.

They had found the artefact where Ianto had left it, resting against the imbued stone, its parchment summoning them with a rustle of age. Tosh had immediately picked it up, feeling its ghostly pull directing her to the location of the next ancient pillar. She had looked at Gwen, her eyes holding a flicker of awareness, a duel insight taken from a mix of past and present that seemed to overwhelm the small imperfection of their colour, making them sparkle.

Gwen had stepped forward, a little uneasy but Tosh had shook the concerned hand from her shoulder and had turned in search of the next stone.

They had discovered it just as the snow began to lightly dust the churchyard, its weathered surface indistinguishable from the rest of the age worn monuments. A silence had crept upon them, waiting on the hushed breath of the wind, as the book initiated the rite with an eager lick of its heavy pages. Gwen had been rooted, her light steady, despite the waltz of flakes breaking into raw tears on her skin.

The open book had shadowed Tosh's face with its rounded script, its luminescence bathing her features, covering them with the translucent form of a majestic Grey Wolf. It had bayed against the darkness, calling to the moon, the overlie of its eyes holding a wisdom long forgotten in the modern world. One sliver of silver had cut through the cloud, as if the moon had answered the age old appeal, the serenity held in the dip of its beam coaxing the stone to awaken.

Tosh had spoken against the night; words that had held no meaning to Gwen but they made her skin tingle with their resonance. The stone seemed to gasp and inhale the spiralling symbols raised from the pages, until the letters blazed against the rock, embellishing the obelisk with its ancient baptism. Tosh had then collapsed to the frozen ground and the moon had melted behind the drifting rubble of the cloud.

Gwen looked at the other woman; she looked barely human in the drawn light of the torch, her face grey against its sallow beam, her dark eyes jaded and weary. She laid a hand on the Asian woman's trembling shoulder; Tosh gave a small smile that struggled against the exhaustion. "Let me try," Gwen offered. "It can't hurt." She placed her torch down on the stone, angling the beam in her direction.

Reluctantly Tosh nodded and handed over the manuscript, wiping the sweeping snow from its leather cover with her sleeve. She stepped back and pooled her light on the book, waiting for it to react as Gwen opened it up.

Nothing.

They waited.

Still nothing.

The wind stirred, biting into their bitter tableau, carrying the snow across their dual beams like a swarm of frenzied insects.

Gwen picked up her torch and turned a page, its light bouncing off the empty parchment. She looked at Tosh, who moved closer. "It's blank." She carefully leafed through the cumbersome pages.

Tosh frowned. "No it's not." Her fingertips skimmed the stretched animal hide revealing the glide of ink where she touched.

Gwen looked back at the manuscript. "What..?"

Tosh shook her head, keenly watching the scratch of symbols render the page. "This is way out of my field of expertise," she offered, narrowing her eyes in thought. "Maybe Ianto and myself act like some sort of conduit…" She paused, her eyes becoming distant. "Life, death, rebirth."

Gwen tracked the mantra as it drifted into the depths of the night. "Tosh?" She looked into the other woman's blank features.

"This needs to be done while her direction is elsewhere; we need to finish this now." The spark in the Asian woman's eyes flashed once more as the tome's ancient script began to weep from its pages.

The Welshwoman closed the book, looking to her colleague. "I know, I know, but Tosh, listen to me, whatever this, this book is doing, it's taking something from you, using your energy to fuel itself; you're dead on your feet."

Tosh stopped, her face pale against the chalkboard of the night, her posture changing in a sweep of torchlight. "We mean this body no harm." Her voice revealed several inflections that floated in the flurry of the snow. "But to wait would be costly, she has become more powerful then we imagined."

The book slipped from Gwen's grasp. "We?"

Tosh looked at her through unknown eyes. "We are her keepers." She turned to the yew, dappled with snow. "We must redo what time has undone; we have slept too long waiting for repentance."

Gwen stepped nearer; an old man ghosted the smaller woman. "Nodons?" Her question traced the darkness. "You remained here?"

His gaze held a profound grief. "Agroná's corruption stained us all, her transgression became our own burden, such is the way of the collective."

He looked at her, his eyes piercing the drawn out howl of the encumbered wind. "Our flesh became stone and we waited for time to heal our scars and give us contrition."

"But it never came," Gwen offered.

"No, time only fed her grief and need." He inclined his head as if in thought.

Gwen held his gaze. "But can you stop her?"

"We will do what we can but we will not go against our nature." His voice became firm.

"You will imprison her again?" Gwen let her stare linger over the dappled crown of the yew.

"Yes and wait for repentance." There was an austere trace in his tone.

The Welshwoman inadvertently chewed her bottom lip. "You do not think it will come?" Nodons regarded her sincerely. "And yet your heart is one of compassion?"

Gwen sighed, searching her rhetoric. "Her _pain_ is still acute after all these years…"

He smiled. "You are still tied to the linear." He held out a crumpled hand, letting the snow melt on his palm. "Time is as complex and as fragile as these crystals, no two moments are the same, yet they start from the same point, share the same nuclei. You must understand that time is not a stretched thread but a prism to pass through and drift on its charity and patience."

He looked at her. "Agroná is one with us, she shares our spectrum of light, we will find the understanding within time's many facets to heal and guide her back into our fold."

Nodons reached across and with a fatherly touch, brushed Gwen's fringe from her eyes. "Would you give up so easily on someone you love?"

Their eyes held a joint understanding. Nodons nodded. "Then we are of a like mind."

Gwen studied the snowstorm. "What about the rift?"

"We too can use its energies. We were careless before, we will not be so again." The manuscript sprang from the ground and into Nodons' hand.

His face softened into Tosh's own features and then bloomed into those of a youth. The young man laid a hand upon the stone. Gwen took a hesitant step forward. "My friend, Tosh…"

"We will not harm her Gwen Cooper." His voice had a musical lilt that beckoned memories of gentle breezes and spring showers.

The ex-constable nodded. "And the others, Agroná has taken them with her."

"We will do what we can. We can make no promises." Maponus lightly bowed his head.

The heavy tome opened, spraying its light toward the stars and bathing the night in music. Its melody rose from the pages, infusing the darkness with its harmony. For a fleeting moment Maponus tore his gaze away from the stone and let it dance into Gwen's own. His voice whispered with the timbre of nature's ambience. "Love has many faces Gwen Cooper; embrace what you can have, do not try to snatch at a moment of desire, it is but a flicker that will consume more than just your heart."

He turned away, leaving Gwen feeling bruised.


	24. Glories Stream From Heaven Afar

**Angelystor**

_Glories Stream From Heaven Afar_

Shells erupted across the sky, grazing the heavens with fire and painting the sorrowful moon black. Their explosions ate up the night; great thunderclaps that slashed the earth and crushed the sanity of those huddled in the scarred clefts left by the destruction. Under this ragged tissue of the sky both Owen and Ianto settled into a semblance of normality as the doctor worked on removing the wire still caught on the younger man's clothes and skin. It was a slow and arduous task, his hands clumsy due to their injuries and the only light was from the sharp and blinding bursts of the shells.

Ianto looked to the doctor's distressed fumbling. "Owen, why don't you take a break, I'm not going anywhere?"

The doctor pulled the last barb from a length on the Welshman's chest, catching Ianto's skin. "Sorry." He yanked it free and threw it to one side.

Owen sighed. "Yeah, a break sounds good, go put the kettle on would you?" He looked down at his palms, wrapped in the thick cloth torn from the Welshman's discarded overcoat.

Ianto gave a small smile and sat back against the shored side of the filthy hole. "Biscuits?"

Owen repositioned some of the bindings, using his teeth to tighten them across his hand. "Chocolate Hobnobs and leave the packet." He spat out some frayed bits of wool and then nestled against the worn sandbags, bringing his knees up to rest his arms on. He tipped his head to the firestorm above, drumming his feet on the sodden duckboards.

Ianto watched the blaze of light play across Owen's features until his eyes stung with the raze of the sky. He let his gaze fall to the trickle of water and the landslide of mud and sandbags that isolated this crater from the rest of the trench complex. A previous bombardment had dislodged its defences into the slip of the earth, sealing its usefulness and parts of its former inhabitants into the saturated folds. His focus dwelt on a growth of shabby legs sticking out from the earth. "French legs," he muttered, the stiff limbs still baring traces of their uniform. "Buried without ceremony or the gift of a prayer."

Owen turned his attention to the younger man and followed his direction, shuddering slightly at the twist of dismembered limbs that paled against the shadowy earth. He flexed his swollen hands, wiping them on the legs of his jeans. "Let's get back to it shall we?"

The Welshman's unblinking concentration remained on the sandwich of pulverized body parts.

"Ianto!" The younger man flinched as Owen gently turned his chin to make eye contact. "Stay with me okay?"

The Welshman studied the doctor's face and nodded. Owen began the painstaking task again, mindful of the rusted pieces of twisted wire penetrating Ianto's skin. The barbs were embedded deeper on the front of his body from where he had fallen into their spines and his weight had pushed them further into his flesh. Owen bit his lip as he freed the next small section, causing blood to seep from where it had pierced the skin. He closed his eyes, momentarily trying to block the medical scenarios hammering through his mind, for even though most of the cuts were superficial, in this environment, the risk of infection was high.

He carefully eased the young man from his suit jacket, taking a few loosely snagged segments with it. "Only a few more to go," he added hopefully.

Ianto looked down as Owen worked on the wrap of metal. A shell ruptured the darkness and his mind wandered through the edges of reality.

A macabre Zoetrope of images flickered through the slits of his thoughts, bodies broken in death, lying deleted against the polish of the floor. Screams echoing through the warren of corridors along with the ceaseless sound of automation, the whirl of machinery, the march of metal; always the metal, the armoured hand, the silver glint, the burn of its touch, the spin of its mechanism. Metal, shining against the flames, a mirror for destruction and rebirth, encased and swathed in silver, stripped and empty, a hollow vassal, a tin soldier.

Owen extracted the last stretch of wire, tearing through Ianto's cotton shirt and drawing more blood. The young man cried out and fought against the doctor's allaying touch, seeing something other than his colleague. He whimpered, cradling his head, pressing the heels of his hand into his temples and rocking his body.

"Ianto!" The doctor tried to prise the young man's clenched grasp.

"Too much information, make it stop."

"Ianto!" The young man stiffened, pushing himself back into the sandbags, gasping for air. "Ianto, it's me, Owen."

The Welshman's eyes found the stability of the doctor's concerned stare; he breathed out and relaxed, letting the nightmares fade to black. Owen settled Ianto's tight shoulders back, checking for signs of infection; the young man flinched as he probed his neck.

The doctor studied the Welshman's face. "Does it hurt?" He pressed his grazed fingertips against the slightly swollen glands.

Ianto held the other man's searching stare; Owen raised stern eyebrows; he dropped the pretence. "A little."

The doctor let his gaze fall to Ianto's torso as his practised touch tried to inspect the punctured skin but even though the light was insufficient for a thorough examination, he knew the injuries were already contaminated.

"What's the prognosis?"

"Stitches, a course of antibiotics and plenty of bed rest." The doctor helped Ianto back into his ruined jacket.

A shell blast blanched the young man's face and Owen noticed the smirk on his face. "And no sex either," he added. "I'm not patching you up for Harkness to undo all my hard work." The doctor began to remove the cloth from his hands.

Ianto watched the precise manner he unravelled the makeshift bindings from his palms. "How's the hands."

A smile ghosted the doctor's lips. "Oh, just dandy," he replied, throwing the ragged remains to the floor. He flexed them, feeling the smart of tightening skin.

Ianto turned his attention inward, trying to remove himself from the scrape of his injuries. He felt trapped, smothered by their raw sting, unable to think beyond the darkness trawling his mind. He looked at Owen, watching him inspect his damaged hands. "You know you were right." The words fell loosely into the orange glow of the night.

"I usually am," Owen replied, settling back against the damp sides of the trench. "When?" He looked at the other man.

Another blast ripped across the sky causing both men to stoop a little. "Earlier, in the hotel."

Owen frowned, trying to recollect the conversation. "Canary Wharf…" Ianto enlightened.

"No!" Owen stood up, his silhouette dark against the broken landscape. "Don't do this Ianto, don't you fucking dare. I don't want to hear it, not now, not here, you keep any major revelation to yourself." He turned to face the younger man.

"Owen…"

"No, you can tell me when we get back." He pointed a finger down at the Welshman. "Over the pint you owe me for saving your sorry arse." He sat solidly down, sharing a narrow look with the younger man.

Ianto swallowed; his throat dry and sore. "Are you sure _you're_ thinking straight? I think you'll find you owe _me_ for saving you back at the churchyard, twice!" Ianto held up two fingers.

"Oh yeah, how could I forget you trying to bludgeon me with your gun…"

"At least it wasn't the axe."

"Guess I ought to be thankful then."

"Too right." Owen smiled.

Ianto's face creased with pain as he shifted his weight against the cold earth. "Still doesn't alter the fact that I cut you free from the wire." Owen waved the cutters as evidence.

"With tools you stole from a dead man."

"Hey, needs must…"

"_He must nedys go that the deuell dryves._ Assembly of Gods, John Lydgate."

Owen cocked an eyebrow. "Well, I prefer, _needs must when the devil vomits in your kettle_, Blackadder." Both men smiled.

A fierce roar cracked the heavens and hammered into the earth throwing both men onto each other with the push of its vibrations. Their sanctuary crumbled into collapse where it was already weakened and debris fell like hailstones, buffeting them with its dust and gravel. Fire licked the darkness and men screamed nearby, the air filling with the stench of burning flesh. Owen carefully extricated himself from the other man. "You're heavier than you look," Ianto remarked, blue eyes vivid from the powder covering his face.

The doctor looked the young man over but Ianto waved away his concerns. "I'm fine but your bleeding," he touched Owen's head showing him the blood from his forehead.

The doctor pressed a palm against the wound. "Must have reopened the wound from earlier." He shrugged away the seep of moisture.

Bullets were exchanged across the trenches, scattering their deadly light into the darkness and smoke thickened and clogged the night. Death permeated the air from the churned earth, stalking those left to breathe in its pungent reminder. Another explosion sent the two men careering to the soft wood of the duckboards, the ground jumping under its crushing fist. A fine mist, caught on the rush of the blast, saturated the confines of the hole and turned the remains of Ianto's shirt from white to pink. The Welshman looked down to his upturned cuffs, the dim light of the nearby flames making the soft spray apparent in their creases. "Blood," he whispered.

"It has to go somewhere," Owen remarked with a snort. "Only you would wear a white shirt to a war zone."

"My father was a tailor," came the dry reply, Owen wasn't sure if that was an excuse or apology.

The ground shook once more and something whizzed through the storm of the night, bouncing into their haven. "Grenade!" Owen shouted and flung himself onto the other man. They listened as the object rolled over the wooden slats in uniformed thuds, the wild beat of their hearts synchronized as they waited for the inevitable. The moment stretched through the seconds and nothing happened. Ianto opened his eyes and turned his head toward where the grenade had lost its momentum. He let his grip loosen against Owen's arms and began to laugh with relief, the vibration ringing through the closeness of their bodies. The doctor lifted his head from the Welshman's shoulder and turned to the focus of his amusement; a severed head stared back.

"Fuck!" Owen rolled off the other man and stood up. "Fuck, fuck, fuck!" He began to pace, looking at the blood-spattered remains.

Ianto moved painfully onto his side, putting a little distance between him and the body part. "Owen…"

"It's not fucking funny." He kicked the head sending it spinning along the wet planks in a cascade of water.

Ianto stood, placing a hand on the other man's arm; Owen tore himself away. "Fuck off." He turned on the Welshman. "You think this is funny, being trapped here, cowering in some shit hole, unable to fight back, waiting for death?" He pushed Ianto away from him, his eyes wild and irrational.

"No, Owen I don't think it's funny." The young man kept his voice even.

The doctor shook his head. "Well, maybe I don't want to fucking wait anymore," he spat out with irritation.

Owen marched over to the anguished skull and picked it up, Ianto grabbed at his fleeting sleeve only to have it wrenched from his grasp. "Don't you fucking touch me tea-boy!" His stare was white hot.

The doctor shoved Ianto into the side of trench and clambered up the collapse of sandbags. "Hey, you arseholes want your ball back?" He shouted above the battle, tossing the unfortunate remains into no man's land; the bullets started again, drawn to Owen's movement.

Ianto grabbed at his legs, dragging him into the relative safety of the sodden crater, their combined body weight scraping a channel in the soft earth as they kicked against its slippery surface. Owen spun onto his back and let his frustration loose on the other man, swiping at his face with a well placed punch. Ianto tumbled back, taking the doctor with him as he flayed for purchase, grabbing at the other man's collar. They rolled against the pliable veneer of the mud, each man struggling against the other until Ianto was on top again. He seized the doctor hard by his jacket, thrusting him back into the waterlogged soil. Both men eyed each other too exhausted to continue the scuffle, their breathing laboured against their diaphragms in challenging gulps of air. Ianto let go of the crushed leather and eased himself back on Owen's hips. He smiled, watching the other man observe him cautiously. "You know this is how it started with Jack."

Owen bucked against his weight. "Get the fuck off me!" He heaved Ianto from him and sat up, running a grubby hand through his hair.

The young man waited for Owen to gather his temper, pushing against the soft earth to mirror the doctor's stance of leaning his elbows on his knees. He looked down at his soiled clothes and sighed. "You know, I'm a little pissed off with you using me for your own personal punching bag when you get these suicidal hissy fits of yours."

Owen shot him a sideways glance. "I don't have _hissy fits_."

"But you do get suicidal?"

Owen snorted and looked away. "I've got a bit of temper, always have."

"And I'm guessing, not the most patient of children either?"

Owen gave another small laugh. "Tough childhood, I learnt everything comes to those who take; another valuable lesson learnt from my mother." He looked skyward; Ianto spat out a mouthful of blood and wiped his sleeve across his face.

"Sorry," Owen offered, getting sluggishly to his feet.

He held his hand out to the younger man; Ianto took the proffered limb. "Well, at least I didn't have to shoot you this time."

"_That_ was a lucky shot," the doctor replied, tapping his shoulder.

"You keep telling yourself that Owen." Ianto insisted, as the doctor hauled him up.

Owen went to retaliate but another explosion disturbed the moment, slapping the two men over to the side of the hole. Ianto coughed against the mud. "You know _this_ is getting boring," he wheezed as he settled himself against the safety of the sandbags.

"Tell me about it," Owen answered, watching as Ianto rummaged through his suit pocket. "Lost something?"

The young man fished out a green and black tube and carefully began to tear through the paper and foil covering in an orderly spiral before offering them across. "Mint?"

Owen stared at the tightly packed column of sweets in disbelief. "Fuck me Ianto, you got anything else I should know about secreted away in that bloody suit?" He tried to pick out the top mint.

The young man smiled. "Nope, just some loose change." He watched the doctor's clumsy efforts. "Here, let me."

Ianto deftly loosened two of the grubby mints, placing one in his colleague's palm and the other in his own mouth. He sucked through the dirt, closing his eyes to savour the wash of sugar and peppermint oil. "Why did you become a doctor?" He asked, studying Owen through half closed lids.

The question caught the doctor off guard, making him crunch the mint in half. He looked past the younger man's shoulder as he swallowed the sweet, feeling it rub the soft tissue at the back of his throat. He laughed with a bitter irony. "Because my mother told me I couldn't." It was a simple answer, still, after all these years. "That and Jenny Agutter." He added playfully, his lips curving into a brazen leer.

"American Werewolf in London." Ianto sighed reflectively, widening the hole in the middle of the mint with his tongue.

"Yeah, shower scene." Both men grinned unashamedly.

Owen inclined his head toward the younger man. "And you, why did you end up joining Torchwood?"

Ianto glanced down at this buttons, swallowing his splinter of mint. "I had nowhere else to go." The reply was soft against the night and Owen waited but no further explanation came, he sighed and relaxed into the side of the trench.

The rage of the battle increased, casting its shadow over the two men. Explosions and gunfire rocked their haven, dusting them in the rancour of war, while the strangled screams of the injured and dying haunted those grim corners of their minds where nightmares lurk. It was impossible to remain detached from the pitiful cries of grown men appealing to the heavens to end their suffering and weeping for their mothers. Owen stood, the dirge of the wounded playing on his conscience, driving him, again, to the verge of frustration.

Ianto pulled at his colleague's arm and shook his head. "Owen there's nothing you can do."

The doctor pounded the soil with his fist, needing to feel the smart of pain, hoping it would block his senses. "I can't just sit here." He spat.

"You'd be dead before you even reached the frontline," the young man warned.

"They're dying." Owen turned, rocking on his heels.

"No," Ianto began, holding the other man's narrow stare. "They're already dead, they died ninety years ago."

Footsteps and heavy breathing stole through the mist of spent shells, nearing their position. Both men turned to their advance. Owen searched for the handgun he'd acquired but an explosion had knocked it into a muddy puddle rendering it useless. "Shit!" Owen exclaimed. "Ianto where's your Colt?"

The Welshman glanced sideways at his discarded coat; but it was too late. A German soldier, no more than seventeen, stumbled down the far side of the trench; his gun wavering in the dim light. "Reicht herauf." The guttural bark of his demand fluttered slightly.

Both Ianto and Owen complied, bringing their hands up in capitulation. The youth regarded them with haunted eyes, tarnished by too much bloodshed. He frowned, his gaze flicking between the two men. "Wo sind Ihre Uniforme?"

Owen took a tentative step forward, his gaze never leaving the boy's restless stare. "Sorry mate my German's a little rusty."

"He asked where our uniforms are," the Welshman translated.

The doctor frowned. "Jeez you know, no one likes a know it all."

The boy's heavy forehead creased. "Schweigen!" He nervously wiped his free hand across his mouth. "You Englisch." The statement was accentuated with flick of his handgun.

Owen nodded. "Yeah, English."

Machinegun fire echoed in the distance, causing the youth to press his palm against his ear and seize the short tufts of hair around his temple. His weapon hand trembled and Owen went to take another forward step. "Halt!" The boy's eyes hardened. "You Englischer Spion." The barrel of the gun gestured to the doctor's lack of uniform.

Ianto watched the youth's edgy finger flex against the trigger. "He thinks we're spies," he whispered at Owen.

"Spies, Englische spies," the boy repeated, looking at the Welshman. "Cowering in hole, while meine Kameraden die…" His English faltered. "…Because of them." A shell exploded close by but the youth didn't flinch this time.

His pale eyes blistered with hatred as he twisted the barrel of his gun in Owen's direction. "Bang, bang, Englishman." His supple finger pulled back on the trigger.

Another shell detonated throwing the boy off his aim and sending the bullet skimming over the lip of the trench into the half light of the battlefield. The jolt of the blast sent both Ianto and Owen thrashing forward, the doctor landing on his knees. He tried to scramble to his feet but the youth had regained his balance quicker, obviously used to the thrash of the ground; the cold steel of the Luger pressed momentarily against Owen's temple.

"Don't move." The threat was directed at Ianto who had made it to his hands and knees. The teenager gave the Welshman a swift kick in the ribs, sending him sprawling to the mud.

Owen sprang to his feet but the youth directed the barrel towards the back of Ianto's head, placing a booted foot in the small of his back to crush any further movement.

The Cockney swallowed, holding his palms out. "Look, mate you've got us all wrong. I'm a doctor…" He searched his schoolboy German. "…Ich bin ein, um, doc… um… Arzt."

The boy began to laugh, removing the push of the barrel from the Welshman's skull. "Doctor? Doctor?" He gave Ianto one more challenging kick and walked over to Owen. "Doctors are of no use here."

He looked around the hole, his breath catching Owen's shoulder. "Tell me, Doctor, Wo Ihre Ausrüstung ist, where is the tools of your trade? I see only weapons here." He gestured to the Webley submerged in the mud. "I see only death." His eyes held Owen's own, carrying a weight beyond his tender years and something more chilling, something feral in their nature.

"Mein unit ist dead, meine Freunde blown to dust or crushed by the welle of your blast, no mark on them, das stehen, dead, like the unholy ghosts guarding pits of Hölle, Hell. Tell me doctor…" The Luger was thrust under his chin. "…Why was I saved to look on their, their unholy corpses, to remember their namen, to hear them still..?"

A machinegun sprayed no man's land again and the boy tapped his head with the flat of his palm. "…In nacht, in darkness." He walked around Owen. "'Stille Nacht, heilige Nacht'…" He laughed, it haunted the night with its aggression. "Not here."

The heavens exploded, lighting the boy's aged face; a face on which war's heavy hand had carved its experience and impressed itself on his undeveloped soul; now all that was left of youth, of innocence was bloody and sullied. He began to sing. "_Jetzt muß ich tragen ein schwarzes Kleid, Das ist für mich ein großes Leid. Ein großes Leid und noch viel mehr. Die Trauer nimmt kein Ende mehr…" _ The flux of his voice drifted in a lonely vigil across the swollen and black earth, weeping in both blood and water.

He backed away from Owen, the barrel of the gun watching for the slightest movement. He dug his toe under Ianto, pushing the Welshman over on his back and crouched over him. "You translate." He flicked the gun in Owen's direction. "Translate for your comrade."

Ianto looked over at the doctor and wiped the back of his hand over his mouth. "Come," the youth continued, waving his free arm as if conducting. "_Jetzt muß ich tragen ein schwarzes Kleid…"_

Ianto coughed, spitting the taste of mud from his mouth. "_A, a long black coat I must now wear.__A sorrow great is what I bear. A sorrow great and so much more, my grief will end nevermore_." He knew the words.

The boy nodded his approval. "It sounds good in English, no?" His question was directed at Owen as he squeezed Ianto heartily on the shoulder.

Owen held the youth's blank stare. "'My grief will end nevermore…"' The boy sing-songed in his leaden accent.

He stood, yanking Ianto up by his collar. "knien!" He instructed, twisting the handgun at the other man's temple, his eyes flicking between his two captives. "Do you know sorrow Doctor, do you know the pain of loss?"

"Yeah," Owen replied with conviction. "Just like the song, Der… Der… UmDer treue Hussar, right?"

The youth's head snapped toward the other man, holding his direct gaze. His eyes narrowed, weighing the doctor's comment and then he smiled cruelly, with bitter and destructive lips that veiled his whole face. "I see truth in your eyes and as well, misery." He relaxed his stance, the metal barrel of the gun grazing the Welshman's cheek as he let his hand slide.

"You have lost someone, I see, someone you love." The youth stepped back.

"Twice," the doctor stated, aware he had the youth's focus.

"Owen…" Ianto began but the German lashed the Luger across his face, silencing him.

The youth aimed at the unconscious man, his finger pulling at the trigger. "Do you still see them?" Owen's hurried and desperate words unsettled the boy, he looked toward the doctor.

"Ja," he replied, his arm slumping to his side. "Always." His face broke into a semblance of youth.

He stepped away from the Welshman. "They watch me with hollow eyes, always asking 'why?' Why did you survive Anton?" He shook his head. "Mein

Leutnant, he asked to send me home but we need the men, so I fight still, I fight for them."

He circled Owen but his eyes were seeing ghosts. "Ja, Ja, Josef, bald." He laughed as if sharing a joke with a comrade.

Anton's glazed expression turned to the doctor. "They are restless; they need blood, English blood, like a baby needs the milk. Can you hear them, doctor, whispering in the silence?"

Owen strained against the backdrop of explosions, his blood chilled, for, just for a moment, he heard voices stir against the blast, a whisper, a murmur, as soft as summer rain trickling from all sides of the hole. A loud screech of a crow, midnight against the sky, brought him to his senses as it circled above their little tableaux.

"Ah, I see the carrion is as impatient as meine kameraden to feast on your remains. Auf Wiedersehen doctor." Anton pressed the Luger against his temple; Owen closed his eyes.

The bullet hit its target with a sickening thud, spraying the doctor in grey matter and blood. The youth still wore the dent of a smile that echoed as far as his eyes as he relished the prospect of a kill. It was a second, split by the impact that took out most of his head and caused him to crumple to the ground, his finger still curled on the trigger of the Luger. Owen exhaled, looking from the dead German to barrel of Ianto's Colt. The Welshman was sat up, frozen, his aim shaking slightly where the youth had stood.

"Ianto." His name made no impression.

Owen stepped to where his colleague was rigidly positioned, his focus still fixed down the sight of the gun.

The doctor crouched down. "Ianto…"

"How old do you think he was?" The younger man asked without blinking.

Owen swallowed. "Old enough to kill."

"He was just a boy…"

"With a gun," the doctor reminded him, "pointed at my head."

The Welshman spared a look towards his colleague as Owen gently laid his hands over the Colt. "Let me have it now, okay?"

The doctor struggled against Ianto's grip on the weapon. "Ianto, let me take it, it's done now." The young man's hold slipped from the gun.

Ianto looked down at his trembling hands, the Hybrid's words haunting him. "_You still can't do it, can you?" _ He gingerly placed his quivering fingertips to his cheek, aware of the bruise that was expanding in a lump across the skin. "Teal would be proud." He laughed with shock.

Owen placed a hand on his shoulder; Ianto swallowed. "Have you… Have you ever, you know, someone not..?" He looked at lifeless body. "…Someone human?" The Welshman needed some form of absolution.

The doctor watched him study his hands again. "It doesn't get easier," was all he could say; it never did, first time or fiftieth, it stays with you.

Ianto rolled to the side and vomited dry air as his stomach tried to squeeze through his confines of his throat. Owen waited patiently for the young man to finish and then gently moved him back against the side of the trench. He checked the bruise to his face, prodding it with swollen, but skilful fingertips. Ianto closed his eyes, willing Owen to stop. "How did you know?"

The doctor regarded him. He sighed. "Know what?"

"The song, _Der treue Husar_?"

Owen smirked. "Stanley Kubrick's film, Paths of Glory." He moved away, placing the Colt carefully in his empty holster.

Ianto opened a weary eye, deliberating on the crush of sandbags. "Final scene," he whispered in comprehension.

"Final scene," The doctor acknowledged, bending over the dead German; Ianto turned away.

Owen opened the youth's small kit bag, his focus remaining on the Welshman as Ianto folded in on himself, trying to rein in the push of emotions that bubbled to the surface. The doctor found a tan, cloth covered canteen, almost full. He opened the plugged cap and swilled his mouth out with the contents. The water was warm and tasted earthy. He swallowed his next mouthful, feeling the seep of fluid burning the coarse skin at the back of his throat.

He walked back to the Welshman and offered him the canteen. Ianto stared at it in dismay. He gulped dryly. "I can't." He shook his head and looked away.

Owen squatted down and gently turned the young man's head to face him. "Yes you fucking can, even if I have to pour it down your sodding throat. Take a good look at him Ianto, he's dead, he doesn't need water anymore but you do."

He tipped the open bottle to the Welshman's lips, the tepid liquid made Ianto gag.

"More," Owen ordered, bestowing another mouthful on the younger man until he was happy that it had been ingested.

"Okay there are biscuits, um Hartkek…" He turned the wrapped parcel in his hand. "…Or a tin of Rinder Fle… Fleish…" The doctor held up the canister for comment.

"Rinder Fleischkonserve," Ianto facilitated. "Translated literarily, _Bovine animals canned meat_." He studied both items. "I'll take a Hartkek."

The doctor handed him one from the packet and with a concerted effort broke his own in half. "Jeez, these things are like wood."

He bit off a chuck and let his teeth work on grinding down the hard cracker. "Fuck," he mumbled, holding his jaw. "Perhaps we should open the canned cow."

Ianto gave a weary smile. "I'm already salivating at the prospect." Owen snorted as he rummaged around for a tin opener.

They sat in silence, dipping the hard biscuit in the cold congealed gravy from the tin and sharing the military canteen. Above them the battle fought the dwindling stars and scored the heavens as its ferocity intensified in the near dawn of a new day. Men's voices heralded the fragmented light of the partial sun as it choked against the smog of the fray. They heard the muted sounds of skirmishes drift in ghosts of explosions and hellfire. The long night was ending, the new day trying to cleave a space in the sky. Ianto shivered as pain and exhaustion beckoning him to sleep.

"You cold?" Owen's fingertips were instantly at his neck.

"Tired." The reply was soft.

"Yeah," Owen acknowledged with a roll of his eyes. He scrubbed a hand across his face. "You want any more?" He held up the tin.

Ianto shook his head. The doctor looked down at the leftovers feeling his stomach rebel at the lumpy meat. "Me neither." He pushed in the lid and placed it to one side.

For a moment two men lent against each other in a bid for comfort and warmth but just as quickly they pulled away.

They frowned at each other, Owen breaking the silence, he coughed. "Body heat," he muttered looking away.

Ianto nodded. "Body heat," he acknowledged, awkwardly.

Again, they supported each other stiffly, both self-conscious of the other's proximity. Owen shifted his weight and clumsily brought his arm around the younger man's shoulders, to draw him closer. Ianto's head shot up and he gave the doctor a pointed glare but something unspoken passed between the two men, making him sink back against Owen's chest. "You know, this doesn't make me your bitch." The younger man muttered against the slick leather of the doctor's jacket.

Owen smiled, already feeling the warmth radiating off the other man's fevered body. "Keep it up tea-boy or tell anyone else about this and it's a course of enemas for a month."

"Is that a threat or a promise doctor?" The Welshman stifled a yawn.

"God, you and Harkness deserve each other." Owen relaxed back against the muddy bank, resisting the urge to touch the scar in the other man's hairline.


	25. Heav'nly Hosts Sing Alleluia

**Heav'nly Hosts Sing Alleluia**

He was drifting, neither awake or asleep, dead or alive. He was aware of voices, hushed whispers, sharp and indistinguishable against the rush of blood pouring through his body. Invisible fingers ghosted through his hair, faltering in their caress, drawing him into the rich circle of existence.

Jack awoke with a sharp intake of breath, his eyes settling on the heavens to centre himself in life. He was alone, the stars his only companions but they were masked in the pall of emissions keeping them far from his reach. His hand went to his chest, wrestling quickly with the weighty buttons of his coat as his fingertips explored beneath the layers of his clothes, pressing down on his exposed skin in a need to locate the steady pump of his heart. It was still there, impervious and beating unseen. He sighed and closed his eyes, listening to the earth rupture under his head, allowing himself a moment to gather his thoughts before he turned in the embalming mud and got to his feet.

He patted himself down, realising his gun and field equipment were missing, his pockets empty, except… He rubbed the smooth fabric between the pads of his fingers as he removed it from the lining of his coat; a navy, claret and gold stripped tie; Ianto's tie. He looked down at the sorry material, it was ripped, the colours muted with blood, screaming to him, taunting him, reminding him. He balled it in his fist, crushing the silk in his grasp, his face set with determination.

"_Jack?" _The wind spoke making the Captain search the landscape with a keen sense for the hidden.

He reached out to touch a flicker in the air but it was gone before his fingertips could brush its iridescent pool. Jack licked his dry lips, feeling more than he could see.

He gazed around the vast expanse; the muddy desert offered no direction, no bearing or track to follow; only the still figures of statue like corpses gave some indication that there was life beyond this barren hell. Explosions spilled across the sky, their firestorm making light of the darkness. Jack followed their path with experienced eyes observing the stretch and span of each missile. He tucked the tie back in his pocket and settled on a course across the muddy drifts of no man's land.

It was a treacherous journey, lit by the surge of fiery light from shells and the eerie phosphorescent glow of Verey lights which purged the battlefield of movement. Jack stilled against the bleach of their exposing glow making it hard for the spotters to pick out a target, his body becoming just another indistinguishable shadow against the glare. Others, he noticed had taken the same stance, men, stood a few feet away, oblivious to his presence. He studied them in the blazing flare of light, realising there was something odd with their dent against the night; he could see right through them as if they were ghosts. He looked down at his hands and then back to soldiers; he was outside of this time, a fluctuating phase, solid matter while their echoes continued in the snag of Agroná's time loop without alteration to the moment. She was not powerful enough to affect each circumstance of this instant but only certain elements contained within its fabric. She could bend a few individuals, a limited patch of the battle to her will but not all of the time encapsulated in this bubble. It was a sobering insight in as much as he now understood her focus was elsewhere, allowing him the freedom to walk unchallenged through this celluloid frame of time.

The flares died down and the battle continued as it had all those years ago.

Jack carried on until he came to a lip of a trench. Again, his presence was ignored by those soldiers not under the alien's control, their wraith like energies continuing in the fold of time.

He looked around him at the mill of troops, British; Welsh by the insignia; at last things were looking up.

"Isaac Bevan was my brother," a voice snarled at him from bowels of the stinking warren.

Jack closed his eyes, maybe finding this trench was not a coincidence, maybe Agroná had set his path after she had killed him. He turned his head and looked at the man with half a face, a cigarette hanging from his torn lips. "And he didn't belong in my future," Jack challenged.

Spectres passed through the two men going about their routine without noticing those who had stepped out of time. For them, caught in this moment, Jack and his aggressor did not exist; they were just a stir of the breeze, an overlap caught in their peripheral vision.

Stuart Bevan's focus fell away from the Captain to a young solider sitting against the shored side of the trench reading through a small pocket book. Jack recognised the transparent figure of Isaac, beautiful and whole, unspoilt by death, caught like the others back in the stream of the time. "I've lost him, again because of you." Stuart's anger raged against the other man as he pulled out his bayonet.

The solid steel drew Jack to its edge. "You lost him ninety years ago when he drowned." Somewhere deep in his subconscious he could hear Ianto's voice reprimanding him. _'That's it Jack, goad the man with the big, sharp, pointy blade' _

Stuart took a step forward, the long knife threatening. "NO! You took away his chance to live again…"

"Sorry, but time doesn't work like that, I had a handbook somewhere…" He patted his pockets. "… Can't remember the actual clause, think it was three point four, lots to do with paradoxes and fabric and streams and, did I mention paradoxes..?"

The soldier snarled into the gaping wound showing more broken teeth. "I'm going to cut you into little pieces and feed them to the rats…"

"Fritz is hungry, wants fresh meat." Another soldier, a boy really, joined Stuart, a large rat perched on the top of his arm; both had a hungry glint in their eyes.

The creature nuzzled the youth's face and set to work gnawing at the scorched and bloody flesh down its master's left side.

"Stand down." The order was crisp, its inflection as cold as Thomas Rees's grey eyes.

Bevan was torn, his bloodlust threatening to overwhelm him; he did not move. "I said stand down!" The officer commanded again.

"He killed Isaac, he's mine…" Stuart's eyes became large and brutish.

"No, we've had no instruction; we'll keep him here until we do."

Stuart swallowed and turned to his commander. "And when we do?" He licked his lips, bayonet still pointing at Jack.

"Then you can have and enjoy your revenge." This seemed to satisfy the violent man and he smiled at the Captain with a mock salute.

Evan Thomas began to giggle, causing the rat to stop tugging on his springy brachial artery. "Three, two, one…" A shot rang out, piecing the night.

There was a commotion at the far end of the trench and a stretcher was rushed to that location. Thomas Rees looked at Jack. "Welcome to the suicide ditch, Captain Harkness, if you will come with me, please," he added.

The man led Jack silently through the trench until they came to a vacant and secluded alcove once used by snipers. Rees sat down and gestured for the Captain to do the same; Jack complied watching the other man carefully. "What now?" He asked.

"We wait." The Welshman's voice was distinctively soft as he eased himself back against the sandbags.

"For?"

Thomas sighed, looking to the Captain. "Dawn. At dawn we all die again." He took off his cap and began to polish the badge. Jack could see the depth and track of the bullet hole in the side of his skull; close range he observed.

The ghostly spectacle of two men carrying a stretcher passed them by, it occupant dead, shot through the head. "Novices," Rees stated sadly. "First time in the trench they can't resist peering over the top. Bang!" His voice followed the cortège as it disappeared along the narrow walkway to the scrape of lights across the sky.

He positioned his hat back on his head. "They just want to glimpse the Hun, they never do, all they see is darkness." He laughed mirthlessly. "I know, I speak from experience, only mine was self-inflicted." He wiped his fingers across the peak.

"Why did you join up?" Jack observed the sorrowful change in the officer's face.

The flint coloured eyes met his own. "Because I am, was, a cowered, in a world full of brave men I found it is easier to face death than do the right thing." His hand slid to his breast pocket and pulled out a photograph.

Jack studied the picture; it was wrong. The image was hazy as if it was out of sync here and now, its colour bleeding in smudges into the darkness. It cried out with a sickening static that Jack knew all too well but could not place.

Thomas Rees fondled the captured moment seeing what Jack could not, his thumb stroking through the distortion. "How did you find us?" He asked without looking up.

"I thought your mistress led me here," the Captain answered honestly.

"She is elsewhere," the officer replied, eyes narrowing. "There has been a change; I can feel it burning through me…" He looked at his hands. "…Like time is shifting." He glanced at Jack. "Maybe it's because you are here, maybe it's the loss of Isaac but I can feel something stirring."

He turned back to the photograph. "Why are you here Captain Harkness?"

"Agroná has dragged two members of my team back here; I've come to find them and stop her if I can." Jack's words were weighted and serious.

Thomas' hand squeezed the image, buckling it. "Who?" He looked at the opposite wall.

The question surprised Jack. "My doctor and my archivist."

"The two men from the graveyard earlier," Rees stated; The Captain nodded.

Thomas stood, his back to the other man, he looked skyward at the deadly fire. "She is testing me," he whispered more to himself than Jack. "She believes I am still the man I was. She is punishing innocents." His gaze fell to the photograph once more.

"She always has and will," the Captain confirmed.

Thomas went to answer, to contest Jack's claim but his argument fell short of a shell burst. "How will you stop her?" He said softly, looking over his shoulder.

Jack held the other man's unwearied gaze. "I don't know."

--

Gwen fell to her knees in the snow, taking Tosh's weight as she slumped backwards. The rambling flakes dusted the Asian woman's face, making her pale skin almost glass like against the spill of her hair. "Tosh?" Gwen's grip tightened; just like her colleague's on the manuscript.

"Tosh?" Again there was no reply.

Gwen placed her hand on Tosh's forehead; it was icy cold, she pulled her friend closer. "You bastards, you promised!" She looked to the glowing stone in front of her.

Tosh's eyes shot open, their colour swirling with light. She took a deep breath. "Life, death, rebirth. Life, death, rebirth…" The mantra raced from between her ghostly lips, gilding the air with a golden light.

"Help me to stand." The smaller woman pleaded.

The ex-constable hesitated. "Gwen please."

They both staggered to their feet, Gwen supporting her colleague's light frame. The Asian woman clutched the book close to her chest holding her free hand in front of her. The manuscript blanched against her dark coat and then blinked like a thousand suns into the darkness. Gwen shielded her eyes against the intense flash of light that was channelled though Tosh's outstretched hand. The beam split into four and coursed to the imbued stones, its reflected light eddying above them, moulding itself into four gossamer forms; an old man, a wolf, a stag and a youth. The human shapes stretched out their arms, illuminating more than they could reach, the wolf bayed at the night sky in a flare of light that called to the heavens and the male deer shook its majestic head with a regal temperance that stirred the stars to bequeath their energies. "It's happening," Tosh whispered.

"What…?" Gwen didn't get to finish as the stones began to rise from the ground to unite with the figures suspended above them. "Fuck."

Like the falling snow the ethereal forms scattered onto the rock below them making them glisten against the darkness, turning them into pure light. Their beams coursed across the graveyard, each taking up a position at the far corners, their unbroken ray of light enclosing the whole of the area making a an impregnable boundary. The manuscript flew from Tosh's grasp into the air, its pages split against the night, stopping in the centre of churchyard. The four stones fell heavily to the ground, their bases buried securely in the earth.

The graveyard fell silent and dark, the snow falling like pale petals on the covered ground. The two women waited their breathing intense against the spark in the air as the manuscript's pages fluttered in the tune of rebirth.

"Tosh?" Gwen's question dodged the tombstones.

"It's not finished." The other woman's gaze was on the book.

The stones seemed to breathe out, each expelling a broad arm of light that captured the manuscript in the flicker of their burst. Its pages turned and symbols floated in spiralling flames toward the rigid trunk of the yew; the combined beams following its written path until they struck the wood and forged a bridge between times.

A scream shook the graveyard and just for a second the tree's great crown folded into the shape of a crow.

"It's sealing Agroná's connection with the past," Tosh stated wearily, resting against a vast family tomb.

Gwen stepped forward, her eyes never leaving the gap cleaved open by the book. "But Jack, Owen and Ianto are still there..!"

--

Jack felt it rip through the trench, an invisible shockwave erasing and correcting the slips in time.

Thomas turned to him, looking to the photograph before slipping it back in his pocket. Jack had watched the image clear under the surge of energy and another take its place, the amorphous shape of before disappearing into time.

A fissure of light opened before him; in its centre he saw the graveyard. "She will fight this." Thomas informed him. "Even now she calls to us." He began to wane in the dim light. "You must go."

Jack stood. "I'm not leaving any of my team behind."

"I will bring them back to you." Thomas held the Captain's gaze.

Jack looked deeper into the steel of his stare. "Why?"

"Because I am not the man I was. I can put it right." He touched the Captain's shoulder. "I will stop her and bring them back to you, I promise." He released Jack and checked his side arm.

Harkness shook his head. "How?"

"By breaking the pact." He placed the gun back in its holster, his words holding a certainty in their influence.

The light from the tear grew stronger. "Go, wait for us, there is nothing you can do here."

Jack hesitated but there was something in the officer's eyes, a determination, a hope, a need for salvation, that he, himself recognised and trusted. "Okay, ten minutes, then I'm coming back in."

Thomas Rees nodded as he vanished into the night to answer Agroná's raging cry. Jack turned into the light and fell back to the churchyard.


	26. Christ The Saviour Is Born

**Christ The Saviour Is Born**

Owen awoke to the coarse sound of unruly voices and a thick, choking, haze of cigarette smoke. He lifted his head from the slant of a wooden table sodden with the ringed dregs of spilled beer and the acidic bite of local wine. A candle mocked him from its centre, its insignificant flame dancing in the rustic fumes of the run down hostelry, lighting only a speck of darkness. He watched the melted wax drip idly down its narrow shank, sculpting another layer on its solidifying spread across the uneven timber. The sound of a glass slapping the table brought him upright and fully awake.

"Thought you could do with a sup." A soldier pulled another chair out and sat down beside Owen.

Owen looked from the weak ale to the man. "Fuck." He jumped up, shaken and startled, staggering back and knocking his chair over in the process. The man was burnt skinless.

The room went quiet.

He looked around the tavern at the silent eyes observing him; it was packed with jigsaws of men held together by stretched flesh and congealed blood; all their wounds fatal.

"Where the fuck am I?" He demanded, looking into the soldier's dried and empty eyes.

The charred man sat back and sipped his own drink, observing Owen from its rim. He placed it back on the table leaving sooty deposits floating on the head. There was a change about him as his stare encompassed the doctor. "Do you not know?"

The place was familiar; its drab and almost windowless interior coloured only by the soft light of the candles and the mist of cheap cigarettes, the simple stage and the dilapidated piano, the shuttered door and the crowded, high, wooden rafters straddled by those who could not find a seat. He looked down at the solider. "The final scene," he whispered in realisation, his forehead vexed.

"Sit down," someone heckled from the back and the room stirred with noise once more.

Owen ignored him. "Am I dreaming?" He asked.

The singed muscles on the man's face drew his shrivelled lips into a smile. "When are we not?" He answered sagely, wrapping his hands around his tall glass.

The man stood, his hollow eye sockets searching Owen's face and for a moment the room stilled and withdrew; the doctor's attention dropped to the greasy tumbler. Light seemed to radiate from within the glass, showing the span of half a dozen fingerprints left on its surface. "We all leave our mark upon time, Owen, good or bad…" A plump drop of beer rolled lazily over the spread of the man's skinless fingers. "…We all have to live with it."

The man's stare changed to amethyst. "You are a good man Owen Harper; you must trust your heart and not let simple words persuade you otherwise."

"I said sit down!" A cap hit the doctor on the side of his head causing him to turn away and in that moment the man vanished leaving his beer to stain the wood.

The noise level in the room rose and scores of whistles grated off the rough walls and the husks of the exposed beams. Owen turned to the stage where two figures stood framed against the grey wash of its backdrop; a man and woman, only the man had been replaced in Owen's memory my the animated corpse of Aeddan Bach. The doctor recognised his own post mortem stitching running in a, large, deep Y from the Welshman's shoulders down the front of his chest. Bach spoke above the cat calling of the other soldiers, his deep tenor voice holding the stage. "_Gentlemen, a little pearl, washed ashore by the tide of war." _ The words were scripted from Owen's recall.

The room began to echo with laughter as Aeddan pulled the woman close to him; again she bore no resemblance to the girl in the film this _dream_ was trying emulate. _"Sag den Herrschaften guten Tag." _Aeddan gestured with his hand.

"_Guten Tag."_ The woman spoke; only her tone did not follow that of a frightened girl taken from her homeland, it dominated the small tavern and directed itself in the doctor's direction. Lilac eyes met Owen's and her stare ran cold through his body.

The room broke into cheering. A soldier stood, a man with a stump for his left leg that had turned a pus covered and putrid green. _"Hey, talk a civilised language!" _His breath smelt of too much alcohol; again there was more laughing.

"No," Owen cried out against the rallying mirth. "This is wrong, this is all wrong." He turned to the crowd; his protest drowning in their revelry.

"_It's true, the lady has her limitations; as a matter of fact, she has no talent_ _at all."_ The bearded Welshman linked hands with the woman as he gestured to the shape of her body. _"Except that is… Well maybe a little natural talent."_

The dead agreed with a round of wolf whistles in the direction of the stage; the girl's focus still remained on Owen.

Aeddan raised his voice above the applause. _"The little lady can't dance, she can't tell any jokes and she can't balance rubber balls on her little nose…" _He brushed its tip as collectively the room sighed in mock disappoint.

"_Ah!"_ The Welshman continued, signalling for silence as he held up his hand. _"But she can sing like a bird. She has a throat of gold_." He squeezed his throat with his fingers.

A chorus of whistles began again. _"Come on, honey! Sing us a song! Come on!" _ The bar full of restless dead man released a crescendo of noise.

Aeddan turned to the woman and encouraged her by gently conducting her with a sway of his hand; the woman smiled, her eyes burning a rich violet. She stepped forward, her silver hair spinning like a spider casting its web and she began to sing above the clamour of the room. "Stille Nacht, heilige Nacht. Alles schläft; einsam wacht…"

It was not the song Owen expected. It wasn't even Christmas in the trenches. Around him the tavern stilled, around him everything stopped.

The woman advanced toward him, filling the small space with her presence. She finished the first verse, the tune echoing in the silence, haunting the dark corners where the shadows fought the candlelight. She circled Owen, touching his shoulder with cool fingertips. "Who are you?" The doctor asked already knowing the answer.

Her lips tipped into an unpleasant grin. "Don't you know?"

"Agroná." The name resonated around the lifeless forms caught in the slip of a second.

The smile stretched a little further. "See, what a clever boy you are." Her breath whispered in the shell of his ear; Owen felt sick.

Her fingers trailed along his jaw. "I have come to help you Owen Harper. I like you." The air quickened with cold.

"Help me? You brought me to this hellhole." He jerked his head away from her touch, his stare rounding on her own.

"Yes and I realise my mistake. I am offering you a way home." She inclined her head, her gaze fingering his soul.

"Really?" Owen narrowed his eyes. "At what price?"

She laughed, it was a disturbing sound. "See, that is why I like you, you are a realist…" She paused and moved away from the doctor, stopping to stare at the beer glass left on the table.

Her fingers cautiously touched its rim, recoiling instantly as if they had been burnt. She turned back to Owen and her eyes clawing through his mind. He drew breath as an intense pain split his head and ripped at his memories. Agroná's face moulded itself with hatred and then the doctor caught a sudden glint of fear. She turned away from him and hit the glass from the table with an angry sweep of her hand.

She strode back to Owen and grabbed his throat, lifting him from the ground. Her gaze shifted from him to the spilt shards glistening on the floor. "What was said here?" She demanded, her grip trembling slightly on his windpipe.

Owen let out a strangled laugh and met her furtive stare. "Not to listen to your bollocks for a start."

Agroná flung him to the floor and stood over him; she smiled with uncompromising lips and turned to a dimly lit corner. Owen followed her purposeful stride as her presence illuminated an alcove. Ianto sat, slumped against the wall, his eyes closed in a restless sleep. Agroná's fingertips brushed his cheek; at the trace of her touch the young man's wounds began to bleed again.

"Leave him alone, bitch!" Owen got quickly to his feet and advanced toward them but the shadows surrounded him in forms of men, grabbing his shoulders and forcing him back down on his seat.

The Welshman flinched against Agroná's attention, his eyes moving rapidly under the fold of their lids. "Now, why would I do that?" The alien directed at Owen, her hand moving over Ianto's heart. "Each breath is a step closer to death; surely a medical man such as yourself realises this."

She bent closer to the Welshman, inhaling his ragged breathing. Her cold lips rubbed against the younger man's mouth; he pulled away with a shudder, backing further into the alcove in the torment of his dream. Agroná laughed. "You cannot save him, you are both trapped in the past without hope of rescue. His condition will worsen and eat away at his strength and you will have to watch him slowly and painfully slip away. Invoke any _bad _memories for you doctor?"

Flashes of Katie's slow demise ripped through Owen's mind, her confusion, her anguish and the pain of the alien's lingering grasp on her brain. He screamed, clutching his head in his hands, digging his finger into his skull as if to scrape away the agony and burn of those raw memories. "Can you do it again, Owen, can you bear to watch someone's life slowly tick away?"

She stood, the darkness shrouding her face so only the flare of her eyes were visible "Give him over to me Owen Harper and save yourself."

"No, never." He looked up, challenging her with his own resolve.

Agroná held his gaze; it froze against his skin and seeped through to his heart. "Tell me doctor, did she think of you as the alien sucked her life and her dreams away? The man she trusted to fulfil all those aspirations, a doctor who could not even heal his own fiancée."

She placed her hand on Ianto's shoulder. "I wonder who he will cry for in those last agonising moments? You, his _friend_? His Captain? Or maybe, like these fools…" She gestured at the room. "…He will cry for the comfort of his deranged mother who found God more appealing than her own son? Either way, Owen Harper, he will become another victim for Torchwood and the rift."

The doctor struggled against the grip of dark hands. "I won't let that happen."

She laughed again and Ianto drew back from her frigid caress, groaning as the pain increased. Owen fought once more against the restraining shadows. "Ask yourself if you will be able to bear it doctor? To see such torment and know it is within your grasp to end it?"

He looked at Ianto's flushed face. "I took an oath…"

"And yet you still kill," Agroná snarled as Owen again bore witness to flashes of his past. "Tell me, open your heart, doctor, what is **your** ratio between killed and saved..?"

Owen held his head in an attempt to block out the images. Agroná watched him closely. "…And which do you get the most pleasure in?" He turned his head away from her scrutiny.

She smiled. "Do not delude yourself, I can read you, see who you are, a small, frightened, pathetic child, unloved and unwanted; the habitual failure, spineless and corruptible, trying so hard yet running away from any real commitment. Even your colleagues dislike you; they only tolerate you because of your medical expertise."

"That's not true!"

"Are you so sure? The tea-boy shot you Owen without so much of a second thought; did he do it out of love? I think not!"

Agroná seized his hair, her pale skin reddening slightly with rage. She pulled his head back. "Return the favour doctor dear, kill the tea-boy or I will let loose my wraith upon you and you will wish for death ten times over!"

He matched her insidious stare, his eyes narrowing. "Why?"

The question threw her. "Why save me and not Ianto?"

She loosened her grip and Owen fell forward. "Because his blood is mine."

Ianto screamed under the guise of rest, it ripped through the cloud of Owen's dream and sent the doctor back to the trench.


	27. Son of God, Love's Pure Light

Son of God, Love's Pure Light 27

Son of God, Love's Pure Light 27

The pain burnt through Ianto's body, tormenting him in spikes of anguish and yet there was something else, something in the shadows of his mind mocking and drawing pleasure from his suffering. He stifled another scream that brought him to the brink of consciousness and further ordeal. Someone brushed cool fingers through his matted hair. "Owen?" He spoke with more breath than he intended.

"Shhh, he's sleeping," a voice hissed softly in his ear.

Ianto peeled his eyelids back and looked into the startling face of an old woman. He backed away, not from the worn flesh and worrying folds of skin but from the draw of her small hypnotic eyes, whose stare seemed all-encompassing and full of evil pleasure. She pulled his head forward with large dried-out hands and placed a cup of water to his lips. It was warm and tasted of death. Ianto gagged and felt like he was drowning in the small, enamel cup as the woman insistently poured it down his throat. It burnt as he swallowed, scraping at the inflamed tissue. He tried to push her hands away but she was determined to drain the cup to the rank dregs that had sunk to the bottom. Ianto retched against the contents, trying to spit out more than he actually swallowed the liquid oozing from the sides of his mouth.

"There now, that's better." Agroná wiped his chin with her sleeve. "Can't have you dying on me, yet." Her smile was cruel and nauseating as she pushed him harshly back into the wooden bench.

She watched him for a moment like a predator with its prey and Ianto's heart jumped and struggled to crawl away from her gaze. She laughed and ran a ragged nail against his cheek scratching at the skin. He felt the supple roll of blood drip silently down his face from the track her finger had made.

Agroná sighed. "Such wonderful eyes." She pressed the hard pads of her thumbs into the soft skin of his sockets. "So expressive and soulful, so full of emotion like the clouds of a storm charging across the sky."

She leaned forward, her breath rasping against his lips. "The pool of your feelings bare upon their tempestuous membrane of colour, reflecting the fullness of your heart." Her hard mouth bit into his, her gums sucking the air from his struggling lungs. He thrashed against the roughness of her kiss and the taste of soil and blood.

She released him and licked the spittle from her lips. "I have a present for you." Her eyes gleamed with malice. "Something that you believe is beyond your reach."

Ianto's hazy mind watched as she laid a pink and bloody lump of flesh upon the dirty table in front of him; it was beating, pushing blood through the fine filaments of its fibres and pulsating against the wood.

The Welshman swallowed and looked at the old woman; she laughed and in its echo the room disappeared and Ianto was back on the battlefield. A body lay in the mud, still and pale against the monochrome landscape, its chest torn apart. Ianto fell to his knees. "Jack."

The sky above them was silent; the only sound was the continual beat of the missing heart. Ianto cradled the other man's head on his lap; his hesitant fingers coasting through Jack's hair. The old woman looked down and roughly seized his shoulder, drawing on the young man's anguish. She licked the scab of her lips. "Death s never pleasant," she cackled, basking in Ianto's distress.

"He cannot die." Ianto challenged his eyes full of hatred.

"Really? Even without a heart." Ianto turned back to the body of his Captain.

Agroná smiled. "You do not look so sure now, Ianto Jones. Is it because this is my time and my rules?"

She let go of him and moved back, raising the pounding heart before her. "Such fragile things, hearts." She squeezed it firmly between her grasp, scarlet ribbons oozed through the gaps of her fingers and anointed the ground. The hollow organ began to throb irregularly.

Ianto got to his feet. "Stop!" He stumbled forward, reaching for the bloody muscle; Agroná pulled it closer to her chest; Ianto's clumsy efforts plunged him to the ground.

Again she watched him as he tried to catch his breath, as he fought against the fever which had taken hold of his tired limbs. She stooped down and caught his flushed face with a bloody hand, smearing its imprint across his cheek. She searched the glaze of his eyes. "I am a man down, Ianto Jones, a man taken from me, a man of my blood. I could extract revenge on all those culpable, your friends, your lover, make them die a thousands deaths of torment or I could take another in payment for the crime."

Ianto leapt into her disturbing gaze, trying to follow the meaning of her words. She rubbed a calloused thumb over his lips. "Would you give yourself to me and save your colleagues from their ultimate fate? Or would you prefer to save your wretched soul again and let others die in your place."

The battlefield dissolved into countless screams and the echo of useless gunfire as the steady advance of metal marched toward them. Flames licked the air around them and in its blaze tormented faces danced; faces Ianto knew. The burning light distorted their skin, transforming it from flesh to the meld of metal. Their motorized voices rose from the fire, emotionless and yet cutting. _"You let yourself be taken?"_

"_Why didn't you fight, Ianto Jones?" _

"_Why didn't you die, coward?"_

"_Coward."_

"_Coward."_

Their words snapped at the air around him, making his head jerk to the sound of their malicious ricochet. He covered his ears, pulling his knees to his chest. "Make it stop!"

Agroná laughed, it was throaty and full of pleasure. "No, you make it stop, these are your emotions." She laid a hand on his trembling form; Ianto baulked away from her icy touch.

"I am giving you the chance to make things right, to purge yourself of past mistakes. Give yourself to me Ianto Jones." Her voice cut through the images dispelling them back into the depths of his mind.

The young man turned toward the body, averting his gaze from the gaping wound. "Jack, Owen?" He asked, not lifting his eyes.

"I would let them leave this place." Her answer was ambiguous.

Ianto rubbed his head letting her proposal sink in. "You are in the position to save two of your team members." Agroná reinforced angrily. "I would take my offer if I was you."

"And if I refuse?"

Her eyes darkened and Ianto heard both Owen and Jack's detached screams. "I will show them no mercy," she hissed, "especially your Captain, a man who could die a thousand and more deaths while you watch his suffering. Could you stand to watch someone you love suffer, Ianto Jones?" It was a loaded question. "And know you could have saved them."

Images replayed in his mind, flashing out of control in rapid succession. Canary Wharf, the flames, the glint of metal blades, Lisa, the blood, the pain, Torchwood and all its dark corners, Jack, Owen, Susie, Tosh, Gwen; his mother, her rabid screams, the hiss of her prayers skulking around the house in hushed and urgent pleas. Ianto rocked against their onslaught, pushing the heel of his hand into his temple.

"Only you can stop this," Agroná whispered again.

Ianto reached out and touched Jack's glassy cheek with trembling fingers, letting them trail to the lapels of his grey coat. He lovingly smoothed out the creases and arranged the wool material to cover the extent of his injury, silently fastening the buttons. Ianto reached into his pocket and found his tie, he caressed the crumbled and marred silk between thumb and forefinger before rolling its length and placing it inside Jack's coat. It was the only goodbye left to him.

He stood and looked at Agroná with empty eyes; she smiled and took a step forward but then stopped as time shifted in a shudder of a moment.

Agroná screamed as her body began to splinter into a storm of dark cloud and fold into its own chasm until it was gone. Ianto's heart lurched as the landscape around him began to slide in a sluggish blur of colour. He watched, bound in the tendrils of time, as Jack awoke from the dead and fought for that first breath. Everything was collapsing back, pulling him away from this moment and he struggled against its redress, reaching across the divide. "Jack?" His voice carried on the balancing breeze and the other man turned to its sound.


	28. Radiant Beams From Thy Holy Face

Radiant Beams From Thy Holy Face - 28

Jack fell hard against the frozen earth as the shredded gap of time expelled him back into the graveyard. Immediately he rolled onto his side, dousing his coat in a thick layer of snow and vomited the hastily eaten Mars he'd digested five hours earlier. Hands grabbed at his shoulders, trying to steady him from the brutal retching of his stomach contents but he batted them away; he got to his hands and knees and looked at Gwen's concerned face. She glanced from him to the fluctuating light expectantly; Jack looked back down at the discoloured snow.

Gwen bit her lip, eyes wide. "Owen, Ianto?"

Jack closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

--

Ianto thrashed in the nightmare of his own thoughts, his body pounding against the sand bags in terror. Owen tried to calm the younger man as he lashed out at unseen torment.

"Ianto, Ianto mate wake up!" He held onto the Welshman's shoulders to prevent him from harming either of them.

"Jack?" It was a dazed whisper, dappled in the slow rise of the sun.

"Nope."

Ianto's eyes shot open. "Owen," he exclaimed, his voice rasping badly.

He took in his surrounding, his breathing becoming agitated. "Agroná she, she was here."

Owen sighed. "Yeah, I know." His eyes trailing away from the other man.

Ianto sprang to his feet, surprising the doctor. "He's out there somewhere on the battlefield, she took his heart…" He looked down at his trembling hands. "…It was still beating, Owen, Jack's heart, we've got to find him, we've got to try." He hopelessly endeavoured to scramble up the side of the trench but his strength had left him and he could find no purchase on the slick layers of mud.

Owen grabbed his collar and pulled the weakened man back onto the sodden boards; it was too easy he noted. "Ianto…"

"No, no…" The Welshman fought against the doctor's grip. "…We've got to help him." He sank to his knees exhausted. "I saw him, his chest ripped open…" Again the young man gazed at his shaking hands.

Owen crouched down. "Ianto…" He gently turned the Welshman's head toward him, feeling the blaze of his skin in the cool air. "…Look at me, Jack's not dead. He doesn't die, remember?"

'_Remember this.' _The words sprang out of nowhere triggering a host of contained memories; a chorus of hysterical screams, the dance of abandoned fires, the empty pulse of emergency lighting, blinking a violent red over the accumulation of disorderly corpses; scores of blank faces, turning to him as he ran down endless corridors of death, the harrowing march of metal approaching from all sides, caging his escape.

He turned to Owen, his eyes haunted with the curse of fevered recall. "I saw them in the flames, Canary Wharf, they accused me, they were right, I gave up, I didn't fight and I should have. I can still hear them screaming my name." He began to hyperventilate, his words tripping over each other, tumbling into the fragile dawn.

Owen slapped his face, hard. Ianto fixed him with a murderous stare which was reciprocated in the doctor's own eyes. "Don't fucking blame yourself for surviving. It'll eat away at you; make you less than you are. You're more than that Ianto, not like…" He looked away.

"You could've gone back, you and Jack; I could have saved you…" The young man whispered on strangled breath, eyes full of guilt.

Owen stared at his muddy boots. He knew what Agroná had offered Ianto, his life for theirs. She had terrorised him with his own remorse, debased his memories and ripped at the frail stitching holding him together for her own ends. "It was a ploy Ianto, nothing more. Do you think she would have let us go?"

The Welshman went to disagree but somewhere in his muddled thoughts Owen's statement sank deep; she had lied, pushed him downward and pulled on the treads of his vulnerable flaws. He felt too broken to argue, too many pieces of himself scattered on the wasteland of his self-reproach. He shifted backwards to the side of the trench and sighed heavily as he rested against it. He hurt, inside and out. Owen stayed where he was, watching the ripples swamp his feet.

Ianto observed him for a moment as he tried to surface from the stream of rebuke that deafened his own thoughts. He massaged his head in an attempt to find some order, a stillness, some peace away from Agroná's corrosion. "What did she offer you?" His quiet question stretched into the night; the doctor did not answer.

"When I said, 'Agroná's here', you said 'I know.'" Ianto expanded, through the burn of his mind.

"She offered me a way home." Owen's reply was too quick, his stare edgy and unclear.

Ianto swallowed. "And you didn't take it, you sure I'm the one with the fever?"

His words pushed at the doctor's own guilt, Agroná's taunts crushing his heart. "The price was too high," he replied simply.

They shared a look; one that spoke in consuming degrees. There was a silence before Ianto said against dry lips, "Owen…"

Heavy gunfire pierced the night, the sound echoing through Owen's mind. _'Do it, do it, end the suffering, kill him, save yourself…"_

The doctor shook his head. "The price is still too high, even for someone as shallow as me." He stood up, turning away from the thud of bullets, his voice loud enough to carry, his humour stretching thin.

"Owen…"

"Christ Ianto, just leave it will you…"

"Owen!" Ianto's abrasive yell made the doctor turn back; at the far end of the trench, marked by a pair of stiff legs, a split was opening up.

Owen went across to the younger man and hoisted him up; supporting his shaky frame.

The doctor bit on his chapped lips, eying the expanding swell of time. "It could be a trap." He placed Ianto's arm over his shoulders.

The Welshman nodded. "Yeah, yet what have we to loose?" He gave Owen a sideways glance. "Unless you like it here?"

The doctor snorted. "And I always pegged myself as the optimist," he replied taking a step forward.

"Really?"

"Less of the sarcasm tea-boy, remember who's carrying your sorry arse." The escalating bubble flooded the half-light, the graveyard distinguishable in the balloon of its centre.

"Snow," Ianto said with all the delight of a small child.

"The sooner we get you on some meds the better," Owen countered, shifting the Welshman's weight. "You ready?"

They glanced at each other, holding eye contact that spoke volumes between them; Ianto nodded. They took a step forward and stopped as in front of them four shadowy figures materialised from the darkness.

"Shit!" Owen exclaimed, loosening his grip on the Welshman. "Do you think bullets will work here?" He wrestled the gun from its holster.

Ianto swayed on his feet. "There's only one way to find out." He looked around him for something to use as a weapon.

"Stay behind me!" Owen yelled.

The young man dragged the splintered remains of fence post from the mud. "What and let you have all the fun?" He stood by Owen.

"Well, make sure you keep the fuck away from me, I'm bruised enough."

Ianto staggered slightly causing the doctor to stabilize him against the trench wall; he deliberately stepped a few feet away. Ianto frowned; Owen shrugged and turned back to the visible forms.

"_Do they matter-those dreams in the pit? You can drink and forget and be glad, and people won't say that you're mad; for they know that you've fought for your country, and no one will worry a bit."_ The man with the crushed face recited the lines while fingering what looked like several military buttons threaded through twine. The drip of his lopsided stare watched the two men intensely.

"Well, here we are again." Stuart Bevan stepped forward, cleaning his nails with the tip of his bayonet. "Are you going to use that Harper or is it just for decoration?" He gestured to Owen's gun with a sly grin on his gaping face.

The doctor swallowed. "Step aside," he retorted with more boldness than he felt.

The boy with the rat giggled. "Make us," he challenged, with all the cliché of a Spaghetti Western.

Owen felt a sickening lump dissolve in his stomach as he fired; the bullet hit the young soldier with a gentle thud, causing no damage.

"Our turn," Bevan cried, his eyes shining with spite.

Owen put his body between them and Ianto as the dead soldiers collectively stepped forward. "I'll try and hold them off; you take the chance and get your arse through the rift."

Ianto swallowed, clutching the post nearer his body. "When we get back we're going to have a discussion about this fixation you have with my arse. And…" He added hastily. "…I'm not leaving you."

"Don't argue with me, tea-boy, I out rank you."

"The hell you do…"

Owen turned and quickly threw Ianto towards the gap. "Fucking run you useless twat!"

Hands grabbed at the doctor's arms twisting him round. "Nice try Harper," Bevan spat in his face, "but we've got an opening in our little unit here that requires a particular standard that you just don't meet."

Owen stumbled over his own feet as he was forced backward toward the swollen breach. "How's this for a guilt trip, doctor? Be seeing you, soon, ta, ta." Stuart Bevan smiled cruelly into his wounded face as he shoved Owen into the gap.

"No!" The doctor screamed, watching helplessly as Ianto struggled against the restraining hold of Charles Davis just inches from the fissure. He tried to catch the Welshman's wrist as he fell past, his fingertips sweeping against the material of Ianto's jacket before the rift embraced his body.

"No," he screamed again as he plummeted through the decades in a powerless freefall, ending in the snow covered graveyard.

Owen jumped sluggishly to his feet, ignoring the thick braid of his stomach he ran toward the diminishing cavity, watching as it faded back into the night. "No!" It was a heart-wrenching sob that resounded off the cobbled darkness.

He fell to his knees, kneading the snow in a harrowing display of torment.

"Owen?" The doctor averted his eyes from the crush of Jack's questioning stare, his focus remaining on the melt of crystals between his swollen fingers. Jack swallowed; adjusting his emotions.

"They're going to kill him." The plume of his words stretched against the early morning shadow. "I couldn't save him." He bowed his head, closing his eyes on his distress.

Jack stole a glance at Gwen who gently placed a hand on Owen's shoulder; he moved violently away from her touch, wiping his nose on his sleeve. "They're coming back." Owen stood, the dampness spreading from the knees of his torn jeans.

"Then maybe there's a chance we can get Ianto back." She looked from Jack to Owen.

The doctor turned on her, his face flushed with anger. "Don't you get it, you dopey bitch. When he comes back, he'll be one of them. Torchwood has damned yet another team member!" The ex-constable stepped back, holding her hands up defensively.

"Then we'll have to kill him too." Both Owen and Gwen turned to Jack; the Captain's face was emotionless.

"Jack…"

"Don't bother Gwen." Owen turned to their leader, his eyes boiling with rage and brimming with guilt. "Ianto was worried when Agroná took your heart, he shouldn't have bothered, it's obvious you don't need it." He took a swift step toward the Captain, despair fuelling his hostility.

Jack stood his ground. "If Ianto has become a threat then we extinguish it, it's what we do."

"What with, Captain, sticks and fucking stones?" He prodded Jack in the chest with his finger.

Harkness leant forward with authority. "We'll find a way."

Owen shook his head, turning away from Jack's stony stare. He slicked his hands through his hair and spun back. "You just don't get it, we can't fight this, she's here…" He tapped his temple. "…In our minds, she uses our insecurities against us…"

"We do it everyday," Jack said wistfully.

"Not like this…"

"Maybe we can fight Agroná with the manuscript." Tosh moved slowly from the tomb she had been resting on, holding out the artefact.

Owen snatched it from her grasp, searching blindly through its blank pages. "This is fucking useless…"

"I've used it before," Tosh encouraged, taking it back. "I might be able to tap into…"

"No!"

Tosh squeezed the book tightly to her chest. "Jack if there's a chance…" Gwen pleaded, standing next to the other woman.

Jack shook his head; his tone weighted. "You're exhausted Tosh, you can hardly stand, it's too much of a risk, I'll not loose another member…"

The Asian woman held onto Gwen, her enervated body needing support. "I'm willing to risk it Jack, please, I want to try to get Ianto back, we can't give up on him…"

"No." The word made even the gravestones flinch.

Owen rounded on the Captain. "So I was right, he's just a part-time shag to you, a convenience to use and loose…"

"Owen." Tosh grabbed at his sleeve, seeing through the veil to the Captain's heartache; he shrugged her off without any effort; his words freefalling in pain.

"…One of Jack Harkness's little sexual anecdotes to regale at parties. Well maybe he's expendable to you but to us he's…"

Jack punched him, solidly; the doctor crumpled to the ground. "You finished…" He stood over the fallen man, his knuckles burning against the cold.

Owen spat out a mixture of snow and blood. "…Family." He sobbed into the frozen ground, finally letting go.

Jack closed his eyes and exhaled. He looked down at Owen's stiff hands clutching the colourless snow in anguish; his eyes carrying the unbearable burden of guilt. "Go and get the med kit from the SUV and get yourself fixed up. Gwen…" He stopped the beginnings of a lecture. "Help him and see what weapons we have, we'll need to re-arm."

He held his hand out to Owen; the doctor grabbed his wrist and hoisted himself up. "I tried, Jack, I tried to save him."

The Captain pulled him to his shoulder, his eyes seeing beyond the churchyard. "I know."

"He would've given his life to save us, you know, we can't just abandon him." Owen's voice was smothered in the folds of wool.

"And I won't, I'll do what's required."

Owen stepped back and looked at the Captain, closing his eyes in acknowledgement he turned towards the church gate, Gwen in tow.

Tosh drew level with Jack observing him closely watching the yew; his hand trembled slightly in the dawn, its light illuminating the emporium of grief on his face. "I can't afford to get emotional," he said without looking at her directly; she remained silent.

"I still have three of you left, Tosh, to lead and keep safe, I can't let one man…" He paused, swallowing. "…No matter how much it hurts."

She turned to the yew. "Will you be able to do it, will you be able to kill him?"

He let out a bitter laugh. "Without compunction, that's the sort of monster I am."

Monster. The word devastated the soft light. He had hoped this day would never come.

Her hand wrapped around his, he directed his gaze to its embrace. "Was it wrong, for Ianto and me..?" His voice trembled slightly, seeking release.

Toshiko's focus remained on the tree, creaking under its decorated canopy. "To love...?"

Jack shook his head. "That's a big word Tosh." His words froze on the air like his broken thoughts.

She smiled into the brimming tears. "Torchwood's full of damaged people Jack, destroyed before they even get here, alive but not really living, if two of them can pick up those pieces and find _something_…" She let out a gasp and wrapped her arms around herself.

"Tosh!"

"They're coming," she whispered through the sting of time.

A/N - Poem Does It Matter by **Siegfried Sassoon**


	29. With The Dawn Of Redeeming Grace

**With The Dawn Of Redeeming Grace 29**

Ianto had nothing left as Agroná approached him, her fingertips stroking at his cheek in complicated patterns of ownership. She was flickering, changing her appearance from young to old in a stretch and crumble of skin and bone. Something was affecting her hold on time and he hoped that Torchwood had something to do with it.

Her body shuddered, her eyes catching the dawn and diluting its light; turning its beauty into something brutal and cold. Thomas Rees materialised in the browse of a sunbeam, his face as impassive as his vacant stare; Agroná regarded him as he joined the circle of his comrades, her face discolouring under the reach of light. "Let me do it." Stuart Bevan begged as his bayonet rubbed over Ianto's abdomen, catching the material of his jacket and slashing through to its rich lining.

"No," the old woman hissed, her face crushing with age.

She staggered with the brunt of continual change. "Thomas must do this." Her breathing was harsh, her tone caustic, souring the already stale air; her copious gaze fell on the Lieutenant; they exchanged a barbed look that seemed to cut through the soldier with many sharp points.

"Can't do it yourself then?" Ianto taunted. "Goes against your creed, does it, to actually get your own hands dirty…"

She sneered through young lips. "You have a sharp tongue perhaps I will rip it out so you can spend eternity as a mute." Bevan moved the tip of his bayonet closer to the young man's mouth, nicking the skin on his chin; Agroná leaned towards the small blister of blood and licked it from his face; Ianto turned away in defiance.

Her body rattled with laughter as she stepped back and handed Thomas Jack's Webley; Ianto noticed the flesh of her aged hand had the texture of bark. "Use this," she commanded, "and aim for the stomach I want him to suffer a slow death." Ianto rolled his eyes.

Rees took the gun, feeling its weight in his hands. He looked at the defenceless man, his stare deepening. Ianto held eye contact, drowning in the glint of their sliver hue as the Lieutenant pointed the weapon in his direction and smiled.

--

Jack held Tosh upright as the energy burnt from her body, feeding the corrosive slit of time. "Owen, Gwen, get back here now!"

He watched as the sliver of light wrenched at its own edges, widening itself in a flux of mirrored beams.

--

The flare of the bullet scored the new day, hitting its target in a hungry explosion of dead flesh. Charles Davis had just a second to react against the hole in his wide forehead before death took his lifeless body in a cloud of angry dust. Agroná's dry screech left her gasping as a second bullet tore Evan Thomas into a desiccated swirl of burnt ash that smouldered as it collapsed to the ground, taking the charred remains of the rat with it.

"No!" The alien face became crusted with bark as she fell to her hands and knees. "Stop!"

Stuart Bevan pulled Ianto toward him as a shield. "We choose this," he argued as sunlight filtered through the press of cloud and smoke.

"The corollary is too bitter a price." Thomas took careful aim, his arm rigid.

"But I want this, please don't take it from me, I want to live." The bayonet dug into Ianto ribs.

"You're already dead, we all are, we just don't realise, we believed in a lie, her lies and now I'm breaking the pact." His gaze settled on Ianto and the young man threw himself forward, his momentum snapping the weapon from Bevan's grasp.

"I'm giving us peace." The bleak sound of the Webley discharged, sending Stuart Bevan to his waiting grave in a plume of thick smoke. "I hope Isaac is there for you," Thomas whispered, closing his eyes and letting his arm fall to his side.

"You betrayed us." Agroná stood, her face vexed in folds of wood.

"_You, _betrayed us," the Lieutenant countered, watching her skin split and knot with visible age.

"You were nothing when I found you," she screamed, her movement weighted and stiff, "a coward, running away from life to death…"

"Then death has changed me where life could not." He watched her wither.

"I gave you purpose, I gave you strength," she hissed like the rake of dry leaves.

"No, I found hope…."

Agroná laughed with a hostile smile. "And I can take it away."

With the last vestiges of the power held within her body she struck out at Ianto. Light seared through his body, wrenching at each nerve and pooling around every joint. He felt his heart stumble in its rhythmic beat as it tried to gain its steady momentum but the pain was choking its impetus; he was dying.

He was aware of someone shouting as his mind drifted, caught between the beckoning conundrums of life and death, his thoughts dancing like fireflies as a numbness overtook the rootless pain.

One. Two. Three. A repetitive punch of bullets shattered the daydream of his mind and he fell back into the void of his defeated body. He screamed as he reconnected with the pulse of agony gripping his body with torturous claws.

Thomas Rees stood over Agroná, gun smoking with an empty chamber. He spared Ianto a concerned look as the alien flared into a thousand pieces of burnished light, spinning in the glassy hold of time.

--

The air thickened and tore at its membrane as light fractured the churchyard in a gush of overwhelming energy. The team backed away from the glare of its phantasm, shielding their eyes against its purge.

A shadowy figure blighted its epicentre, bleeding darkness along the periphery of its outline, its androgynous form struggling against the rotating restraint of ruptured time. It screamed, a sound full of pain and mucus as its form was stretched and pounded without regret.

"Ianto?" Gwen's question swung between them.

"No," Tosh answered, her eyes transcending the aura of light, "Agroná."

Jack turned to her and then back to the figure in the flames of time. "She is being reset but her resilience is strong," Tosh continued, her voice holding the timbre of an echo. "So much love begot so much hate."

Agroná's face pressed against the pliable skin, moulding its mist into a furrowed map of bark and age. Her toxic lips ripened into a smile. "They will not cure me, they cannot repair what the heart has lost; I will return, my roots are as vast as my hatred; time will only make me stronger."

Her figure was drawn back and expelled toward the yew, its darkness settling on the lay of timber before it sank into the confines of the wood, drowning her shape in the weave of its periderm. Snow fell in an avalanche from its shaking leaves, melting before it hit the ground.

"Jack, the breach is still open." Gwen's voice sliced the silence.

Owen went to move but Tosh held firmly to his sleeve. "Wait." She turned to the other woman, her eyes possessing the burn of time. "We will keep our promise Gwen Cooper."

"Gwen?" Owen looked at the ex-constable.

"We wait," she answered.

--

Thomas Rees supported Ianto's weight as they moved toward the blaze of the opening. Ianto stopped him, searching the older man's weary face. "Why?"

He was rewarded with a soft smile that showed the man before death. "I hope one day you will come to understand and answer your question for yourself." He looked toward the rift. "I hope that you will also find forgiveness too. In youth we take so much for granted, we believe we are old before our time, wise before our years; we are not, we are young and naïve, only life can teach us to be men, only age can give us tolerance and understanding. In a way I was lucky in death, it gave me time to grow and make right the mistakes of my past. I will die a better man."

Time slowed and Thomas felt a presence at his shoulder; a man devoid of skin. "I can take him back," he offered.

Rees shook his head. "No, this is my burden."

The stranger nodded and smiled. "Yes." He stepped back into the swirl of haze. "May you find peace in your homeland Thomas, our gift to you."

The Lieutenant nodded and stepped through to the graveyard.

--

Jack swallowed as two figures stumbled through the breach, the man in the peek cap carefully handing Ianto over to Owen's care before he approached him. "I broke the pact," he said, returning the Webley to its rightful owner.

Jack took the gun from him, feeling its warmth through his gloves. "Thank you," he whispered, checking the chamber with a quick flick of his wrist.

Rees stepped back, his image turning patchy in the early snow of the morning. He crooked his head slightly. "I can hear the birds," he said softly.

"It's dawn," Jack replied.

"It is." Thomas closed his eyes, a tear rolling down his cheek. "And no one has died in its light."

Jack looked back at the dark figure of Ianto against the deposit of snow; Owen met his gaze and gave a small encouraging nod. "Not today," he countered reflectively; again he held the Lieutenant's stare. "Thank you." This time it was personal, the words unfolding from his heart.

Thomas smiled, its grace and splendour making light of the dead man's face, holding Jack's attention with a sudden familiarity. "Have we met before?" He asked.

Rees shook his head and something in his eyes danced as he became dust in the swirl of falling snow.


	30. Epilogue Jesus, Lord, At Thy Birth

Epilogue - With The Dawn Of Redeeming Grace

Epilogue - Jesus, Lord, At Thy Birth 30

They stood shoulder to shoulder, both silent, both reflective. The grey obelisk was white with snow, its steps undisturbed except for the spindly skip of bird prints left in an early tribute. The afternoon sun had revealed a down of grass against the bleached earth and made a shoreline of the shade where they stood. The cold pinched at their feet but they stood, despite their injuries, in remembrance.

Ianto's focus was taken with a wreath of faded poppies that still bled against winter's pale background, his mind keen despite the numb of pain killers. He closed his eyes, trying to block the meld of comparisons his tortured mind was weaving; a ring of blood against ashen skin, a bullet hole through flesh, his finger on the trigger leaving a boy dead in the mud. He looked down to the curl of his deceitful hand shaking in the afternoon shadows. Owen cast his mind from his own demons and placed a bandaged hand on the younger man's shoulder. "We done here?"

Ianto looked into the doctor's unbroken gaze. "You need to let it go," Owen informed him as the sky became overcast.

The Welshman placed his hand into the vast pocket of Jack's coat; the doctor let go of his shoulder and looked to the SUV. "We good?"

The young man turned and nodded. "Let's go then, 'cos the sooner we get you back to the Hub, the sooner you can buy me that pint." Owen held out a bandaged hand.

Ianto looked at the proffered limb. "I don't need any help." He began to stagger obstinately through the snow.

"No, course you don't, you carry on being stubborn and fall flat on your face, I ain't had a good laugh for days, not to mention the mess you'd make of Jack's coat."

Ianto stopped and looked at Owen. "Are you appealing to my inner valet?"

"If he ain't as pig-headed as you, then yeah."

Ianto smiled and let the other man cut alongside him. "You know you look like Uncle Fester in that coat," Owen scoffed.

The young man looked down at the corpulent folds of wool that engulfed him; he shot the doctor a pointed looked.

Owen laughed. "Okay, Uncle Fester the early years, you know with hair."

Ianto smiled. "Well, that must make you Wendy as you're too small to be Lurch, although grow a moustache and maybe you could pass, no forget it, definitely Wendy!"

"Oh, just keep it up, tea-boy, remember who's in charge of your meds."

"Can you actually function on decaffeinated?"

"You just don't know when to stop, do you?" He clumsily pulled up the collar of his mud splattered jacket. "Fuck its cold."

Snow began to swirl around them. "It's winter."

Owen looked over his shoulder at the war memorial, closing his eyes on the falling flakes. "Yeah, well it was a lousy summer."

Jack watched them from the road, leaning against the SUV's engine more for warmth than comfort. He could see their banter swirl around them in clouds and he found himself smiling a little at the amity that had developed between them.

The young Welshman swayed slightly, causing Jack to take a step towards them but he relaxed as Owen covertly supported Ianto with the side of his body. He moved his hands back to the heated metal, allowing himself a moment to bask in the speckled daylight.

"She'll be back won't she?" Gwen's words spun on the air in worrying clouds, as she combed the snow from her fringe with woolly hands.

Jack sighed. "Yeah, but next time Torchwood _will_ be ready."

She sat on the bonnet pulling the buff folder from where she had tucked it under her arm.

"Tosh?" Jack enquired.

"Still asleep." She inadvertently gestured to the car; the Captain nodded, watching the advance of the two men across the village green.

Gwen swallowed, opening the folder. "Jack…"

He leaned into the car. "Can't it wait?"

Gwen shook her head. "No," she replied solemnly.

He closed his eyes, drumming his finger on the metal. "Okay."

"While you were at the hospital earlier, I completed the files on the, um soldiers." She handed him the folder; Thomas Rees's face stared out at him from faded monotone.

Jack ran the nub of his fingertips over the stiffly posed image. "He looks different." He was out of uniform, his hair severely scraped back from his head but his eyes; his eyes penetrated the photograph, drawing Jack into their depths.

Gwen's face softened with a smile. "He looks so young."

Jack glanced up. "They all were."

She spared a fleeting look to the roll of names on the memorial. "Yeah."

They held a silence for a moment, the snow settling on the open report from the blanket of cloud. Gwen moved a little closer, turning over the page. The Captain sighed. "It's important Jack," she assured him; he nodded.

"The girl he, you know, Mari Cath Bowen, she died in nineteen-eighteen." Gwen ran her finger down the neatly drafted A4.

"Influenza?"

Gwen nodded. "The pandemic."

"Hell of a way to go. And the child?"

"A girl, Telyn, she survived, the aunt brought her up as her own."

Jack shrugged. "Okay, so?"

Gwen bit her lip. "Telyn became a nurse, married a pilot who was badly burnt in the war. They had one child, a boy, in nineteen forty-six…" This time Jack turned the page over; squinting slightly at the roll of typeface.

"The boy's name was Rees Kendrick Jones." He looked at Gwen, the name solidifying on the air. "He's Ianto's father Jack."

The Captain looked toward the younger man. "His first wife died in nineteen seventy-two, they had only been married three years. He met and married Ianto's mother in nineteen eighty-one, they had one child…" She continued breathlessly.

"Ianto." Jack touched the printed word with a stroke of his finger; Gwen nodded.

The Captain shut the folder, closing his eyes to coast in thought. The photo Thomas Rees had in the trench, it had been out of place, out of time. In the back of his mind Jack had recognised the blur of the image, the meld of colours; a small boy in a pink Roland Ratmobile, surrounded by Christmas paper, smiling at the camera with a large cuddly Dangermouse passenger; he had seen it before, in Ianto's wallet.

"The blood of Addoedsbren." The sky seemed to darken on his words.

"Telyn's surname was kept as Bowen, her real parentage was probably swept under the carpet, although her middle name was Rees."

"Same as Ianto's," Jack reflected with a smile.

"What are you going to do?" Gwen leant back on the SUV.

"He has a right to know." Jack lay the folder down on the bonnet.

"And the others Jack, Aeddan's widow, Hannah Goode's husband and child…"

"Murder by person or persons unknown." He crossed his arms over his chest, toe poking the snow with his boots.

She pushed back, her body weight making the SUV rock. "What about their closure Jack..?"

"Our job's done here Gwen."

She turned to him, watching as the snow graced his hair, his blue eyes following the path of the two men. "Do you honestly think it would make a difference to them?" He kept his focus on Ianto.

"It might help…"

"No." It was final. Jack picked up the folder and opened the car door. "Let's go home.


End file.
